


Strangers on street corners

by kelkblr



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BDSM, Bondage, Canon-Typical Violence, Coming In Pants, Dom/sub Undertones, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Miscommunication, Nipple Play, Non-Sexual Submission, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgasm Denial, Painplay, Predicament Bondage, Prostate Milking, Rope Bondage, ruined orgasm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2018-05-25 22:52:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 93,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6213367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelkblr/pseuds/kelkblr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eggsy does Harry a good turn. Harry makes him an offer in return.</p>
<p>Or, another way Eggsy meets Harry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Canon-typical violence, and canon-typical references to Eggsy's past and current living situation.

It's the way the man walks that draws Eggsy's attention at first, because no one on the estate walks like that; ramrod-straight, head back, brisk, economical steps like he doesn't know about watching out for dog shit or the carrier bags full of piss that the kids on the second floor like to drop on people coming out of the Spar on the corner. And, once Eggsy is looking, he sees all the other things that are out of place; no one, but no one, goes around here looking like that unless they want the shit kicked out of them.

So Eggsy is interested, sure, but he isn't following the man he’s mentally christened Posh Twat, not really. He just happens to be walking in the same direction, far enough back that it's not too obvious. And that's why he notices two shadows detach themselves from the darkness of the alleyway next to the housing office and fall in behind a man who really shouldn't be walking around this estate at 9:30 at night.

Eggsy doesn't have to see their faces clearly to know who they are. Keeran Pavlides, who'd been in Eggsy's year at secondary school and who now makes a career out of snatching old ladies’ handbags on pension day, and his little brother Jake, recently out from prison after a spell inside for slashing some bloke in the face over a spilt pint. Eggsy doesn’t need any kind of psychic ability to divine that they probably don’t just want to say hello to Posh Twat. Who apparently is so clueless about his surroundings that he’s going to the cashpoint on Wainwright Street, the one tucked away between the boarded-up newsagent and the community centre.

Eggsy hears rather than sees Jake pull out his knife as he rounds the corner onto Wainwright Street. Eggsy speeds up but, by the time he turns the corner, things have already kicked off. Posh Twat is up by the cashpoint, mostly hidden in the shadows. The Pavlides brothers have taken up positions in front of him, conveniently illuminated by the solitary functioning streetlight, and Eggsy can hear Keeran predictably demanding money.

“Really, boys” Posh Twat says - and his voice is exactly what Eggsy expected and yet not, because every syllable rolls off his tongue and into Eggsy’s bones - “You should have waited until I had entered my pin into the machine. At this point I can simply refuse to give you my pin and you have no access to my account.”

Eggsy stifles a snort of laughter as Keeran and Jake look at each other, clearly baffled.

“I’m gon’ fucking cut yer,” Jake settles for in the end. “Fuck up your face.”

“You heard him,” Keeran says. “Give us your card, and the pin, and you can walk away.”

“An’ the watch,” Jake adds. “It’s a nice watch.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Posh Twat says apologetically. He doesn’t sound afraid, which doesn’t bode well for his chances of walking away from this with bones intact. Keeran might be a lanky streak of piss but Jake is 6’4” of muscle and pure rage. Eggsy sighs, and steps forward.

“Evenin’, Keeran,” he says.

Neither of them had noticed him standing there, and they both whirl around when he speaks. Eggsy catches the glint of light as Jake turns and swallows nervously. Luckily for him Jake isn’t too far gone to lunge at him with the knife.

“Eggsy,” Keeran says warily. “How’s it going?”

“All right.” Eggsy keeps a smile plastered on his face. He’s not sure how well they can see him but he’s not taking any chances. Jake already has his attention back on Posh Twat, making sure he doesn’t try a run for it.

“Didn’t think you was doing this no more,” Keeran says, indicating the frustratingly quiet street. Eggsy can only curse the complete lack of bystanders. Where’s a fucking PCSO when you need one to get on the radio and scream for back-up?

“Might as well let this one fuck off, bruv,” Eggsy says, ignoring the comment. “More trouble than he’s worth, yeah?”

“I want ‘is watch,” Jake says mulishly. Eggsy seems to remember he had a one-track mind when they were all at school, too. Once he got an idea in his head, it was impossible to shake out.

Eggsy tries to make eye contact with Posh Twat but the light is all wrong and he can’t get a good look at him at all. “Give him the watch, yeah?” he says, trying to convey how important it is that Posh Twat does what he’s told. “It ain’t worth it.”

“You after some business with this one, Eggsy?” Keeran says slyly. He glances over his shoulder at Posh Twat, who still hasn’t moved.

“Yeah,” Eggsy says, keeping his voice casual. “You know how it is.”

Jake mutters something Eggsy doesn’t quite catch, but he can guess. Eggsy moved on from caring who knows he likes boys as well as girls when he dropped out of his Royal Marines training; of all the things his stepfather and his goons can use against him, that’s the one he cares about least.

“Manners cost nothing, you know,” Posh Twat says unexpectedly. His voice is mild, but there’s an edge to it now.

“What?”

Eggsy rolls his eyes. Posh Twat is going to get them both knifed at this rate. “It’s fine,” he says urgently. “Just go, yeah?” Keeran and Jake are probably going to try and take their anger and frustration out on him, but Eggsy knows this estate better than anyone and he’d bet he’s a faster runner than either of them.

“Shut the fuck up, Eggsy,” Keeran snarls.

Posh Twat actually sighs. “Manners,” he says, sounding almost tired, “maketh man.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Jake yells. “Shut the fuck up!” He raises his arm, and the blade glints in the streetlight and a hundred different thoughts rush through Eggsy’s head, a dozen half-formed plans that never come to fruition because suddenly, unexpectedly, Jake is on the floor, out cold, and the knife goes skittering away across the street and Posh Twat doesn’t even pause; he goes straight from slamming Jake into the pavement to landing a punch on Keeran’s jaw that sends him flying.

It’s all over in less than thirty seconds.

“Fuck,” Eggsy breathes.

Posh Twat straightens up, flexing his right hand - which, Eggsy thinks, probably stings a little from coming into contact with Keeran’s bony jaw - and fixes his gaze on Eggsy.

“All right?”

Eggsy can’t help it; he laughs. “I’m fine, yeah. But we should probably get the fuck out of here before these two wake up. Because they are going to be fucking _pissed_.”

“I quite agree,” Posh Twat says equably. “Would you let me buy you a drink? Assuming,” he adds, “that you’re old enough to drink.”

“I’m twenty-three,” Eggsy says indignantly.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.” Posh Twat gives Jake a speculative poke with his foot. “Have you got a pub in mind?”

“Why are we going to a pub, exactly?”

“So I can buy you a drink, Eggsy,” Posh Twat says patiently. “As a thank you for coming to my aid.”

“Like you needed it,” Eggsy mutters, but half-heartedly because a pint sounds really, really good right now.

“Excellent,” Posh Twat says. “Where would you suggest?”

“Somewhere away from here.” Eggsy thinks for a moment. “The Beggar and Gentleman. It’s a bit nicer than anything round here.”

“Lead the way then,” Posh Twat says courteously.

Keeran, currently sprawled across the doorway of the community centre, groans. Eggsy wastes no time in moving, and apparently Posh Twat has same idea because he falls into step with Eggsy.

It’s a ten-minute walk to the pub, and they don’t speak very much on the way. If Posh Twat is in any way unnerved or unsettled by what happens by the cash machine, then he is doing a very good job of hiding it, because Eggsy hasn’t seen anyone look this calm and unaffected by violence in his life.

“I hope there won’t be any repercussions for you as a result of this evening’s events,” Posh Twat says unexpectedly as they cross the road in front of the pub.

“Nah,” Eggsy reassures him. “They’re both shit scared of Dean. My stepdad,” he adds.

“I see.”

Eggsy hesitates. Something’s been niggling at him during the entire walk to the pub and he doesn’t want to say it inside, where they might be overheard. And, if Posh Twat is going to go off on one about it, he’d rather it was out here and not inside.

“What they said, about me. It’s not true, yeah? I’m not, y’know. Not selling my arse for drugs or nothing.”

Posh Twat just nods, which Eggsy finds incredibly infuriating. He has his pride, bruised and battered though it might be, and it's always been his choice to get on his knees. Even that time it had been a quick and easy way to distract Dean's mate Karl while he sneaked his wallet out of his back pocket.

“That’s okay, yeah?” he demands.

Posh Twat pauses at the door to the pub. For the first time, Eggsy gets a good look at him and, yeah, he wouldn’t mind too much getting on his knees in the gents for this one. 

“Eggsy,” Posh Twat says with infinite patience, “I’m buying you a pint to say thank you, and also because I could do with a drink. I would be very grateful if you would join me, however don’t feel that you owe me anything in return. I don’t want anything more from you.”

Feeling utterly graceless, Eggsy nods. “Okay,” he mumbles.

They go inside. The Beggar & Gentleman is marginally more upmarket than Eggsy’s local - in that you don’t have to wipe your feet when you leave - but not so upmarket that the landlord doesn’t look askance at Posh Twat in his - now Eggsy gets a good look at it in the light - very expensive and well-tailored suit.

They take a seat in the far corner, with enough distance from themselves and the four other customers that they won’t be readily overheard. Eggsy sips his pint and tries not to stare too openly at Posh Twat.

“My name is Harry,” the man says, as if he knows exactly what Eggsy is thinking.

“Nice to meet you, Harry,” Eggsy says, raising his glass in a mock-toast. “Thanks,” he says belatedly.

“My pleasure. It’s not every day someone is prepared to come to your rescue.” Harry returns the toast, smiling. “I suspect many people would have tried to avoid becoming involved.”

Eggsy looks away, embarrassed. “You didn’t need my help,” he repeats. Then, because he’s been thinking about it on the way to the pub, he adds:

“Were you lost or something?”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “I’m sorry?”

“Someone like you, walking around the estate at this time of night,” Eggsy elaborates. “The only suits we see are bailiffs and the plod, yeah? And you don’t look like either.”

“I’m not sure whether to be flattered or insulted,” Harry murmurs. “But no, I’m not a bailiff.” He takes a sip of his pint and sets the glass down on the table between them. “Nor am I CID. In fact, I’m a tailor.”

That sounds like bullshit to Eggsy. “A tailor who fights like that?”

Something like a smile sparks around Harry’s lips. “I wasn’t always a tailor, Eggsy,” he says mildly.

“Were you in the army? My dad was in the army.” Eggsy isn’t sure why he even mentions it; he doesn’t usually.

Harry doesn’t ask the question but Eggsy sees it in his eyes.

“He died, when I was a kid. Bosnia.”

“I’m very sorry,” Harry says, and it sounds like he actually is. “My father died when I was fifteen. It’s very hard when you never got to know them as anything other than your parent. I’ve always envied those who have the opportunity to get to know their parents as human beings.”

“Yeah,” Eggsy says quietly. “I would have liked to get to know him just as my dad, to be honest.” He shrugs, trying to throw off the melancholy that threatens to descend on him. “Instead, I got my stepdad, and I don’t want to get to know _him_.”

“Do you live with your family?”

Eggsy gives him an incredulous look. “Course I fucking do. Think the council are gonna give me a flat of my own? And no one’s gonna rent to me when I’m on the dole.”

“You could get a job,” Harry says, and that’s the point when Eggsy loses it, because, okay, Harry’s been _nice_ and bought him a pint, done his bit for charity for the day, but that doesn’t mean Eggsy has to put up with his shit.

“Just like that, yeah?” he says fiercely. “You think you have a fucking clue what life is like round here? Who do you think is going to give me a job?”

“There are always options, Eggsy. If you-“

“For the likes of you, maybe! We’re not all born with a silver spoon up our _arses_ , you get me? It’s easy for people like you, yeah? You have no idea what it’s like to have nothing, and you say it like it’s just easy, like I have _options_ , but I don’t, and maybe if you had any idea what it was like, you wouldn’t come out with that shit.” Eggsy stops abruptly, uncomfortably aware of how loud his voice has become.

Harry stares at him, his expression unreadable.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” Eggsy says, more quietly. “I tried, yeah? I tried to get out, tried to do something good. Joined the army, like my dad. Royal Marines.”

“And what happened?” Harry takes a sip of his pint.

Eggsy shrugs. His anger has evaporated as quickly as it appeared, and now he just feels tired. “I was halfway through my training, and my mum was having a really bad time, my Nan died and Dean was being … he was being _Dean_ , and she’d ring me up, crying, saying that I was going to get killed like my dad.” Eggsy goes to pick up his glass and pulls his hand back when he realises how much he’s shaking. “So I left. Came home.” He clenches his hands into fists, hidden by the table. “And then my sister was born, yeah, and my mum needs me around. So that’s why. And if you want to make any more stupid comments about it-” Eggsy breaks off; starts to slide out of his seat.

“Eggsy,” Harry says quickly, stopping him in his tracks. “No more stupid comments. I promise. Please finish your pint.”

He thinks about leaving regardless, storming out and maybe even slamming the door just to make the point. But he’s drunk less than a quarter of a pint he didn’t pay for, and staying means another half hour of pretending he doesn’t have to go home at some point. Eggsy sits back down.

“So what was you doing tonight, Harry?” he ventures, deciding that offence is the best defence. “What were you up to? Looking for a prozzie? Wrong way, bruv; you need to be up by the cemetery.”

Harry is disappointedly unruffled by Eggsy’s question. “Would you believe me if I said I simply wanted to take out some cash?”

“No,” Eggsy says bluntly.

Harry just smiles. “With the best will in the world, Eggsy, if I was looking for, ah, _company_ , it wouldn’t be of the female kind.”

_Oh_ , Eggsy thinks.

Harry is watching him again. “Does that bother you?”

“No,” Eggsy says honestly. Before Harry can ask the obvious follow-up question, he adds, “Don’t mind either way, me.”

Harry smiles.

The conversation flows after that, a little awkwardly at first until they find some common ground in a mutual dislike of _Masterchef_ and Jeremy Kyle. It’s _easy_ to talk to Harry, in a way Eggsy doesn’t find that often. It’s not the minefield of talking to his mum or Dean, or the studied insouciance of talking to his mates, nor the controlled mixture of defensiveness and defiance that comes in handy when dealing with the advisors at Jobcentre Plus. Eggsy tells him about his few memories of his dad, and about his sister, and Harry laughs and pulls a face when Eggsy tells him how Daisy once threw up on his face. Harry tells him a self-deprecating story about his time at Oxford, and laughs when Eggsy calls him a toff. It’s relaxed and companionable and Eggsy can’t remember the last time he talked to anyone like this without anything riding on it, one way or another.

Harry buys another round. Eggsy thinks about protesting but the pleasant mild buzz of the first has settled in his bones and, honestly, he can’t be arsed. By some magic, or through sheer force of personality, Harry even convinces the landlord to rustle them up - or, more likely, heat them up - some cottage pie and chips. By the time the landlord calls last orders, Eggsy is starting to regret that he won’t see Harry again.

Which, of course, is when Harry casually turns everything Eggsy knows upside down.

“I must confess I lied a little,” the older man says, almost carelessly.

“About what?” Eggsy toys with his glass, still half-full.

Harry gives him a look. The second pint has softened him a little, taken off the sharp edges, and put a sparkle in those warm brown eyes. Eggsy finds it very easy to stare into those eyes.

“When I said I didn’t want anything more from you,” Harry says, breaking Eggsy’s momentary lapse in concentration.

“Oh,” Eggsy says, blinking at the implication. “Ok.”

“I have a proposition for you,” Harry continues, as if Eggsy hasn’t spoken. “Don’t feel you have to agree. I want you to think it over carefully.”

“I’m not a blushing virgin, bruv,” Eggsy says sarcastically. “Don’t need to warm me up to it, yeah?”

Harry passes a hand over his eyes. “I’m not talking about _sex_ , Eggsy,” he says.

Eggsy flushes in mortification. No. Of course Harry hadn’t been talking about sex. Someone like Harry wouldn’t want to fuck someone like _him_.

And Harry notices, of course.

“Oh, Eggsy,” Harry says, more gently. “Don’t think I don’t find you very attractive.”

“If you don't want to fuck," Eggsy says warily. "What do you want?"

Instead of answering him directly, Harry leans back in his seat and regards Eggsy thoughtfully.

"It must be difficult," he says casually, as if it doesn’t mean much at all. "Getting by. Being able to give your sister the things she needs."

"I do all right," Eggsy says defensively. "Don't spend much, me."

"What if you could do better than 'all right'?" Harry murmurs, and the way he looks at Eggsy is peculiarly heated, intense and appraising in a way that should make Eggsy feel on edge and apprehensive, but doesn't. “What if you and I had an _arrangement_?”

"I don't know what you're saying," Eggsy says, but he does, in a hazy, ill-informed way. He just doesn't know how to put it into words. _Not sex_ , Harry had said. "Is this, like, some 50 Shades shit?" he asks warily.

Harry rolls his eyes. "Let's pretend you didn't say that, shall we?"

"Noted," Eggsy says, grinning. "More Pretty Woman, yeah? Without the fucking. Which leaves … you buying me clothes?”

“Shall we dispense with the pop culture references?” Harry says acerbically.

Eggsy schools his features into a more neutral expression. “Yeah, ok. So, I let you do things to me, right? But not sex."

"Not sex," Harry confirms. "And I'll recompense you for your time." Harry, somehow, seems entirely composed about all this, like this is completely normal. Maybe it is for him, Eggsy thinks. Maybe this is what Harry does, picks up a boy in the street and makes them an offer they can't refuse. Maybe he makes them disappear, just a name in the newspapers, quickly forgotten, until the body parts turn up in twenty years' time.

"I can assure you I'm not a serial killer." Again, Harry apparently has the unsettling ability to read Eggsy's mind.

"Very reassuring," Eggsy says sarcastically. "And exactly what a serial killer would say. What do you want to do then? Whip me and shit?"

"Not exactly my cup of tea," Harry says evenly. "I never quite got the hang of the whip, and coprophilia certainly isn’t on my list of interests."

Eggsy stares at him, open-mouthed. " _Jesus_ , Harry," he breathes.

Harry pulls a small notepad out of his jacket pocket, tears off a piece of paper and starts writing. With a proper pen, Eggsy notes absently. When he's finished, he folds the paper and slides it across the table to him. Eggsy stares at it like it's a loaded gun. Or maybe a hand grenade.

"It's my address," Harry explains when Eggsy doesn't make any move to take the piece of paper. "I want you to come and see me, tomorrow evening. I will cook you dinner, and we will talk, and you can decide whether you think this is something you want to do. Or," he adds, almost as an afterthought, "if you still think I'm a serial killer, then please don't feel under any obligation to come."

Eggsy picks up the piece of paper and unfolds it. As promised, there’s an address written on it, along with a phone number, in scrawling, untidy handwriting that is quite at odds with the rest of Harry’s careful, controlled persona, and a suggested hourly rate for Eggsy's time that makes Eggsy blink stupidly at the piece of paper for a minute or so. "You want to _talk_?" he says disbelievingly.

"Yes, Eggsy." Harry's voice is still patient. "Talk. About the things I would like to do with you. And about the things you would and wouldn't like me to do with you."

"And I have a choice about that, do I?" Eggsy says, more than a little bitterness colouring the words.

"You always have a choice, Eggsy." The conviction in his expression, in his voice, rings true. "Tomorrow isn't conditional on your acceptance of my offer. Whatever you decide once we've had our discussion, it would be a pleasure to have dinner with you." He glances at his watch, and frowns. "Now, we really should make a move. I believe we may be outstaying our welcome here, and I should be getting home."

From the way the landlord is eyeing them while pointedly tapping on the bar counter, Eggsy thinks he's right. He swiftly downs the rest of his pint as Harry does the same, and then he follows Harry outside.

It’s colder than it was when they arrived, the temperature dropping a few degrees and rain in the air. Eggsy turns the collar of his jacket up and shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Tomorrow,” Harry says, very politely. Eggsy almost expects them to shake hands on it. “Seven pm.”

“I’ll think about it,” Eggsy says, just to make a point.

But he’s already made his decision. He has £1.50 in his wallet and the only food in the flat is half a loaf of out of date bread.

Pride be damned; he'll be at Harry's tomorrow at seven.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eggsy and Harry have dinner. And a discussion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, some canon-typical discussion of Eggsy's past.
> 
> Consensual light bondage in this chapter

Eggsy is outside Harry's house with fifteen minutes to spare and apprehension churning his guts. He doesn't want to hover in front of the house like an idiot so he loiters round the corner instead, trying to look inconspicuous. He’s not sure of the etiquette for visiting the house of your- well, he isn’t sure what Harry is.

His phone beeps, just when he’s starting to panic.

_You might as well come in_ , the text says.

Eggsy doesn't remember giving Harry his number, and he knows he didn't leave his phone when he went for a piss. The fact that Harry knows it anyway doesn't make him feel any less apprehensive about how the evening's going to go.

_Ok_ , he sends back.

Harry's house is nice. Respectable. Probably worth more money than Eggsy is ever going to see in his life even if he lives to be 100. Eggsy knocks on the door feeling like he's dropping the property value just by standing here.

"Hello, Eggsy," Harry says as he opens the door.

This, Eggsy thinks, is Harry's attempt at _informal_ \- neatly-pressed trousers, a shirt with the collar undone, and a soft cardigan. Eggsy still feels ridiculously under-dressed in comparison.

"Sorry I'm early,” he mumbles.

"That's all right. Better to be early than late." Harry stands aside to let Eggsy in. The hallway is long and narrow and Eggsy's first impression is mainly that Harry really likes butterflies. _Dead_ butterflies, pinned and trapped behind glass. Another tick in the _serial killer_ column. "I'm habitually late, I'm afraid; a terrible habit. Now, would you like a drink?"

Eggsy can smell something cooking. It smells really good, better than anything he's ever managed to cook. "A beer?" he asks hopefully.

Harry shakes his head. "Not tonight," he says, with every appearance of regret. "I'd rather you had a clear head.”

"I'm not some fucking twelve-year-old who gets pissed on half a can of shandy," Eggsy says, scowling, but he follows Harry through to the kitchen and starts exploring the cupboard Harry indicates, which turns out to be full of myriad bottles of cordial and things Eggsy doesn't even recognise. Eggsy eventually selects a bottle of ginger and lemongrass cordial - whatever _that_ is - and Harry mixes it with water for him.

"Let's go and sit down, shall we?"

The dining room, as far as Eggsy can see, is furnished with the kind of furniture posh types like Harry inherit from their dead relatives. He warily takes a seat at the table, clutching his glass so he won't be tempted to set it down.

Harry sits at the head of the table, next to him, and eyes Eggsy thoughtfully.

"I wasn't sure you'd come."

"Said I would," Eggsy mumbles.

"Did you think about my offer?"

Eggsy really, _really_ wishes he had that beer to hand right now. "Yeah."

"And?" Harry prompts. "Remember, there's no obligation, Eggsy. This is a business arrangement between us, and I have no intention of forcing you to do anything you don't want."

Eggsy takes a sip of his drink to buy himself a moment or two of thinking time. "You'd just let me walk out of here if I said no, would you?"

"I'd rather you stayed for dinner," Harry says unemotionally. "I spent a long time preparing that lasagne and I made rather too much to eat by myself."

Eggsy can't stop the laugh that escapes his mouth. "Smells good," he concedes. He'd had a slice of dry toast for breakfast and nothing for lunch, too nervous to eat, and he's starving now so, no, he's not going to turn down dinner unless he absolutely has to. "So what's this all about? If you're not going to fuck me, what the fuck do you want? And why me? You got some sort of thing for people like me? You like a bit of rough, is that it? How's this meant to work?"

Harry half-smiles. "That's a lot of questions, Eggsy."

"Yeah? Well, I want a lot of answers. _Harry_."

Harry stares at him for a moment, and then nods, like he's come to some sort of decision. He half-turns in his seat and opens one of the drawers in the dresser behind him to retrieve an envelope that he places in front of Eggsy. Eggsy hesitantly picks it up - it's unsealed - and peeks inside.

"Fucking hell!"

"I thought you would prefer tens rather than anything larger," Harry says calmly.

"I-" Panic blooms in Eggsy's chest. This is more money than he’d expected for tonight. One of Dean's mates had offered him a hundred quid once if Eggsy would let him hurt him. _Really_ hurt him. So what the fuck does Harry want to do to him? "This is-"

"An advance payment," Harry says simply. "With no obligation."

"You keep saying that, bruv." Eggsy eyes the door. He knows he's almost certainly faster than Harry, and he can be out the front door before Harry is even out of the dining room. "I'm just thinking what you want me to do for that money."

"Eggsy," Harry says, very softly, like he knows how close Eggsy is to bolting. "I'm really not going to hurt you, I promise. I just want to ... inconvenience you a little. Watch you." He hasn't moved, hasn't made any attempt to touch Eggsy or grab hold of him, even though it would be easy for him to do so. The realisation helps to calm Eggsy a little.

" _Inconvenience_ ," he says cautiously. "What does that mean?"

Harry leans back in his chair, putting even more distance between them. "Tonight," he says idly, as if it's of no consequence, "I thought I'd tie your wrists together, and see how you felt about it."

"You want to tie me up?" Eggsy can hear the edge of hysteria in his own voice.

"Tie your wrists," Harry corrects gently. "In front of you. You can still punch me or get away if you need to." He pauses for a moment and then adds, "Of course, if you don't like it, if you decide it's not for you at all, then I'll untie you and that will be the end of it." He indicates the envelope in Eggsy's hand. "You’re not a rent boy, as you’ve already made perfectly clear, and I’m not buying _you_. That's yours either way. Call it a gift.”

He could run now. He has the money and he has the opportunity. He's almost sure Harry wouldn't even come after him.

But Eggsy doesn't. He stays where he is.

"What the fuck do you get out of it?" he asks cautiously. "You tie me up and then what?"

Harry shrugs. "I shall very much enjoy watching you. And, before you ask, no, I'm not going to fuck you or ... make use of you." Changing the subject, he says, "Do you know what a safeword is, Eggsy?"

Eggsy is on firmer ground here. ”Yeah," he says.

"Excellent. Can you think of one? Make sure it's something you can remember, and something you're not likely to say in normal conversation."

"Can't I just tell you to fuck off?"

Harry smiles, as if Eggsy's words are somehow entertaining to him.  "You're likely to be cursing me quite a lot, if we agree to this. I'd rather you had something a little less confrontational for your safeword."

Eggsy isn't sure what to make of that. He thinks about the safeword instead. "Manners maketh man," he decides. "That's what you said, isn't it?"

"Very good." Harry looks absurdly pleased. “Yes, that will do.”

"And that makes you stop, yeah?"

"That makes me stop," Harry confirms. "Whatever we're doing at the time - if you say those words, we stop at once.”

"What if you put something in my mouth?" Eggsy wants to take the words back as soon as they leave his lips but it's too late. Harry, though, simply says:

"I won't gag you. You'll always be able to make me stop."

There's a part of Eggsy that thinks he shouldn't trust Harry, that he shouldn't believe anything the older man says, but that's the part of him that's been conditioned by the likes of Dean, the type of men who says _it's all right Eggsy_ and _you don't have to be afraid of me Eggsy_ right before they punch him in the face. Eggsy has spent years dealing with men like that, the kind of men who are careless, who are cruel and callous and won't stop until they've beaten Eggsy into submission, and he's come to rely on his instincts to get away, to keep himself from serious and lasting harm at their hands.

And then there’s Harry, and Harry isn’t _safe_ , for all the careful politeness and studied care. There's a dangerous undercurrent to him; a treacherous undertow that might just carry Eggsy away. Eggsy can see the danger in every movement Harry makes, every look he turns on Eggsy.

 Harry could hurt him, and yet somehow that doesn’t translate to him wanting to run away from Harry.

"How often?" he asks, voice cracking a little. "How often do you want me to-?"

"Not regularly," Harry tells him. "I can't give you a schedule, I'm afraid. The nature of my work is rather unpredictable, and often involves travel abroad. Sometimes I might not see you for several weeks; at other times, I might ask you to come round two or three times in a week. Is that acceptable?"

Several things click into place for Eggsy. "And that's why you want it like this, yeah?"

"Yes," Harry says blandly. “Without obligation.” He glances at the clock on the wall. "The lasagne should be nearly done. Come through to the kitchen." He eyes Eggsy again. "Hang your jacket up first, please. In the hallway. Use the toilet as well."

Eggsy does what he's told, taking the opportunity to have a good look around without Harry watching him. He tucks the envelope of notes away in the inside pocket before he hangs up the jacket on the coat hooks. At least, he reasons, if he has to run the money will be right there and he won't have to scramble around for it.

He wonders, as he's walking back to the kitchen, if it was a test of sorts. If Harry was seeing whether he'd take the money and run. Eggsy feels almost smug about having passed it, right up until the moment he steps into the kitchen and sees the neat coil of rope sitting on the counter.

Eggsy swallows. _Fuck_.

"A few minutes more," Harry says. He turns round, and even though Eggsy already knew that, objectively speaking, Harry has a good few inches of height on him, he seems _bigger_ somehow. More solid. “Before we begin, Eggsy, are there any medical issues I should be aware of? Asthma, diabetes, allergies, previous injuries, that sort of thing?”

“My stepdad broke my arm when I was fifteen; does that count?”

Harry’s face does an odd contortion Eggsy can’t quite place. “Are there any lasting issues from that?”

Eggsy shakes his head. “No. Nothing else, neither. Why is there a stuffed dog in the loo?”

Harry advances on him, and Eggsy has to resist the urge to take a step backwards. “Perhaps I’ll tell you later,” he says. “Ready to start?”

And now that it’s come to it, Eggsy isn’t afraid, not in the way he’d thought he’d be. He’s nervous, and a little apprehensive about how it’s going to feel, but he’s not scared, not in the way he is when Dean starts to shout and comes after him.

Because he knows Harry won’t hurt him, not in any way that matters, any way that lingers.

“Yeah,” he says, almost too quiet to hear. Harry, though, is watching him intently, and doesn’t miss it.

“Hold your hands out in front of you, at ninety degrees. Like you’re-”

“Like I’m getting handcuffed. Yeah, ok.”

“I’m not going to ask,” Harry says, after a moment’s pause.

“You know where I live,” Eggsy says defensively, holding his hands the way Harry wants. “You think I never saw no one get arrested before?”

To Eggsy’s surprise, Harry lets the matter drop. He picks up the rope and lightly trails the end of it across the back of Eggsy’s hand, so Eggsy can feel the texture of it. It’s softer than he thought it’d be. “This isn’t like handcuffs. Make your hands into fists, please, and move them a little further apart. Six inches or so.”

“Are you going to tie me up every time?” Eggsy asks, watching as Harry lays the rope over the top of his wrists.

“No.” Harry takes each end of the rope and wraps them in turn around Eggsy’s wrists in a series of loose loops. “How’s that?”

Eggsy gives him a disbelieving look. “Is that _it_?” He could get out of this in a heartbeat.

Harry just smiles. “No. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t having second thoughts.” He takes the loose ends of the rope, brings them up towards Eggsy’s face, before winding them around the loops, cinching everything together between Eggsy’s wrists. Eggsy watches all the while, fascinated by the neat, precise movements of Harry’s hands and the intense look of concentration on Harry’s face, and it’s only when Harry is tucking the last few inches of rope into the thick spool of rope that now connects Eggsy’s wrists that it really dawns on him that his wrists are bound.

“How does that feel?” Harry asks, straightening up so he can look at Eggsy’s face.

“You’ve done this before,” Eggsy says with certainty. He pulls against the rope. He can’t move his wrists apart at all.

“Yes,” Harry says with a small smile. He stills the movement of Eggsy’s hands and tests the tightness of the loops around his wrists. They’re loose enough that Harry can get two of his fingers between them and Eggsy’s skin. “Tell me at once if you feel any pain, or pins and needles, or numbness.”

“It feels fine,” Eggsy says. And it does, physically. It feels _weird_ , being tied up; the weight of the ropes around his wrists and the way he can’t freely move his hands, but it’s not _bad_.

“Never be afraid to tell me if it hurts, or if it’s too much,” Harry says, very seriously. He still has hold of the rope between Eggsy’s wrists. “My ropes are replaceable; you are not.”

“That’s good to know,” Eggsy mumbles. He’s not really sure what to make of Harry’s care or evident concern for his well-being. It makes a nice change, he decides. Even if Harry’s a little over the top with it.

Harry finally lets him go. “If you want to go and sit down, I’ll bring dinner through.”

“Shouldn’t I be waiting on you?”

Eggsy doesn’t miss the flash of heat in Harry’s eyes: Harry likes _that_ idea. He files it away for future reference.

“Perhaps next time,” Harry says, after a moment’s hesitation. “Go on.”

Walking around Harry’s house with his wrists bound is a strange feeling. Eggsy feels overheated, a little overwrought, tethered by more than the ropes around his wrists. He sits in the chair he’d used before and experiments with picking up the glass. It’s less awkward than he’d expected.

Harry brings the plates through and hands Eggsy a fork without comment. The lasagne looks and smells delicious - and Eggsy quickly discovers that it tastes delicious too.

“I’m afraid the béchamel sauce came out of a jar,” Harry says, as if Eggsy might actually _care_. “And I used rather too much of the beef mince.”

Eggsy briefly toys with the idea of telling him that this is the first lasagne he’s ever eaten in his _life_ that hasn’t been heated up from frozen in eight minutes but he’s too busy eating for that. “It’s good,” he says instead.

They don’t really talk while they eat. Eggsy is aware of Harry watching him, but he doesn’t feel too ridiculous with the way he has to lift both hands every time he brings a forkful to his mouth. Harry isn’t mocking him or trying to humiliate him; he’s just keeping an eye on him and making sure he’s managing.

Eggsy is getting more and more uncomfortable about that envelope in his jacket.

When they’re done eating, Harry takes the plates back through to the kitchen and then he comes back and gets Eggsy to stand up and unties him with the same care he took in tying him up.

“Is that _it_?” Eggsy asks, watching Harry neatly coil the rope. He’s not going to pretend he feels anything other than disappointment. He’d expected something a bit more … intense, and the reality feels like an anticlimax.

Harry glances at him briefly. “Yes,” he says.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Harry looks genuinely startled. “Not at all,” he says slowly. “Why on earth would you think that?”

“Because I was tied up for _fifteen minutes_ ,” Eggsy points out. “You tied me up, fed me lasagne, and then you let me go. ‘Course I’m going to think I did something wrong!”

“That’s more than enough for the first time,” Harry says, face softening a little. “Especially since I wasn’t sure it would be something you tolerated.”

“Yeah, well, I can _tolerate_ it just fine.” Eggsy rubs at his wrist, offended; he can still feel the phantom touch of the rope on his skin. Harry’s gaze immediately picks up the movement, and Eggsy sees the frown starting to form on his face. “I’m fine!”

“Let me look at your wrists.”

They end up sat at the table again, while Harry minutely inspects Eggsy’s wrists for any sign of injury. There’s something strangely intimate about it; the way Harry’s hands cradle Eggsy’s hands, the way his thumb rubs over Eggsy’s skin. Eggsy is just glad the table is in the way so Harry can’t see that he’s half-hard.

_Not sex. Not that_.

“Harry, I’m fine,” Eggsy says eventually, pulling his hands away in exasperation. “All good, yeah?”

He thinks for a moment that Harry might grab his hand back, but instead the older man just nods. “Yes. You should be getting home now. I’ll call you a cab.”

It’s only eight o’clock. “I’ll walk,” Eggsy says. Cold air sounds _really_ good right now, nearly as good as a cold shower. Maybe he’ll even have time for a quick pint with Ryan and Jamal when he gets back to the estate.

“Eggsy,” Harry says quietly. “Think about it carefully, and let me know if you want to continue.” He raises a hand to forestall Eggsy’s immediate response. “ _Not_ tonight. Tomorrow at the earliest. A text is fine.”

“Ok.” Eggsy nearly rubs at his wrist again; he stops himself just in time. “I’m going for a piss, yeah? I’ll let myself out.”

He’s almost at the door when Harry calls his name. Eggsy stops and turns to look at the older man.

“What? I don’t need a cab.” It sounds more churlish than he intended it to be and he half-expects a lecture on manners but instead Harry says softly:

“You did very well, Eggsy. Very well indeed.”

Harry doesn’t follow him out.

It’s nearly ten by the time Eggsy gets home, after a short detour to the Tesco Express down by the church to spend £12 of the £20 he took from the envelope Harry gave him, all but a quid on things for Daisy. He’s already decided against going to the pub, because Dean and his mum will be down there and Dean will be pissed and talking shit and Eggsy’s just not in the mood to deal with it. He’s tired but keyed up as well, too restless to pretend that everything’s normal and he hasn’t been to some posh bloke’s house and been tied up and fed lasagne. If Dean finds out about tonight, Eggsy will never hear the end of it.

So he goes home instead, revelling in the rare peace and quiet to take a shower without Dean hammering on the door. And he thinks about Harry as the water cascades over his body. About the way Harry looked at him. About the way Harry _touched_ him. He presses his wrists together, leans against the tiles.

It’s not enough.

Eggsy turns off the water and steps out of the shower. He quickly towels himself dry and heads back to his room. He pushes his wardrobe across the door, just in case, with no plan in mind, nothing much of anything except a sudden raw need for _something_.

He settles on the belt from his jeans; old, worn leather. Towel discarded, he sits on the edge of his bed and experimentally wraps the belt around his wrists, and the moment he feels the friction of the leather against his skin something changes and he lets out a shuddering breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding and feels the tension melting out of his spine. The angle is awkward and he fumbles it more than once but eventually he manages to fasten the buckle in such a way that his wrists are held tight, crossed in front of him.

Eggsy closes his eyes, tries to imagine Harry doing this, Harry in front of him, here, now, the warm scent of him and the sureness of his touch. Eggsy slides off the bed, falling to his knees in a way that feels _right_ , and it's easy, so _easy_ to get a hand on himself in that position, and it takes no time at all before he’s coming sharp and sudden, the breath snapped from his lungs by the intensity of it.

It takes him a while to get up from the floor, a little longer to disentangle himself from the belt, which has pulled itself tight and pinched the skin at the base of his thumb. Eggsy cleans himself up and pulls on a t shirt and boxers for warmth, and eats the maple and pecan plaits he got for himself from Tesco. Then he goes back to sitting on the bed, running the belt through his hands, feeling the roughness of the leather against his skin. He’s still sitting on his bed when Dean and his mum get back from the pub half an hour later.

Dean is drunk enough to be singing loudly and out of tune, but he sounds good-humoured for once. Eggsy stays quiet, waits until his mum goes next door to fetch Daisy, waits until the flat is quiet again. When he switches on the bedside light he sees the red marks around each wrist where the belt rubbed his skin. Eggsy sits for a while, just looking at them.

Just after midnight, his phone lights up with a text. Eggsy is only surprised it took Harry this long to find the envelope with the rest of the money tucked behind the bath taps.

_You forgot something._

Eggsy shakes his head as he taps out his reply. “I didn’t _forget_ , you twat,” he mutters to himself.

And then, because he knows Harry will take it as a rejection otherwise, he sends a follow-up message:

_Can’t buy me. You can cook for me again though._

Harry doesn’t reply straight away, delaying it just long enough to make Eggsy wonder if he’s ruined everything by not just taking Harry’s money. Finally, shortly before 1, he gets Harry’s response.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eggsy and Harry spend some more time together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the lovely comments and kudos! To say this is slow burn would be an understatement...

 

They meet at a restaurant the next time, two days after Harry cooked for him. It’s a step up from the Beggar & Gentlemen but it’s still not the kind of place Eggsy imagines Harry spends much time in. He supposes Harry doesn’t want to be seen in his usual haunts with the likes of Eggsy and that’s ok; Eggsy can work within Harry’s boundaries as long as Harry is prepared to give a little in return.

Eggsy is early to the restaurant and Harry is late. To Eggsy’s relief, the owner puts him on a table right at the far end of the restaurant, well away from anyone else, and he only has to endure pitying looks from the staff in the fifteen minutes he has to wait before Harry finally puts in an appearance, dressed as impeccably as he was the night they met. The owner immediately straightens up and greets him as _Mr Hart_ and Eggsy revises his opinion of how often Harry comes here.

“You make things very inconvenient,” Harry says as he slides into the seat opposite Eggsy and fixes him with a severe look. He looks like a particularly stern librarian when he does that, the sort who’d tell Eggsy off for making too much noise in the stacks and refuse to clear his overdue fines.

“I’m not the one who’s late,” Eggsy points out; quite reasonably, he thinks.

Harry’s frown deepens as he removes his overcoat and scarf. The restaurant owner appears as if by magic to whisk them away and he even deigns to take Eggsy’s jacket, this time.

“You know exactly what I mean,” Harry says when the owner is out of earshot. “We had an agreement.”

“Show me where I signed on the dotted line, bruv,” Eggsy says insouciantly. A thought occurs to him, rather belatedly. “Is that- is that a thing, for you? Paying for it?”

“No.” Harry doesn’t look offended by the question, nor does he seem particularly defensive. If anything he looks almost _satisfied_ that Eggsy is questioning his motives. “I would feel better compensating you for your time, however.”

Eggsy doesn’t insult either of them by suggesting he doesn’t need the money - because he _does_ \- but he says instead:

“It was enough, yeah? If you want to give me twenty quid, or whatever. Cab fare if it’s pissing it down. That’s ok.” Eggsy looks at his hands, clasped on the table in front of him. “I just- I don’t want you paying me off, yeah?”

“All right,” Harry says, just like that. “But I’m paying for dinner.”

“You gonna order for me too?” Eggsy realises, after the fact, that’s he’s only half-teasing.

Harry, though, just smiles. “No.”

A waitress comes over to bring them some water and take their order, and Eggsy hurriedly grabs for the menu. Harry, who apparently knows this restaurant _extremely_ well, orders the pan-roasted chicken without so much as a glance at the menu, along with a bottle of some craft beer Eggsy’s never even heard of. Eggsy decides to play it safe and goes for the beef and ale pie.

“Excellent choice,” Harry remarks when the waitress departs. “The pie is very good.”

Eggsy eyes him suspiciously. Harry’s too … compliant. Too undemanding. It’s not what Eggsy expected, when Harry suggested they have dinner. He’d expected something more along the lines of last time, to be honest, but unless Harry’s into tying him up in public he doesn’t think that’s going to happen tonight.

Now he’s getting hard at the thought of Harry tying him up in a restaurant. _Fuck_.

“This was a record shop, back in the 70s,” Harry says. If he’s aware of Eggsy’s condition he’s polite enough not to remark on it. “Until the mid-80s or so. I used to come in here, from time to time. To buy singles on _vinyl_ , which you probably won’t remember.”

“Bit of an ABBA fan, were you?” Eggsy can’t recall seeing anything that might conceivably play music in Harry’s house but that doesn’t mean the man doesn’t have something hidden away.

Harry snorts. “Hardly.”

“Go on then,” Eggsy says. He’s fascinated now, determined not to let Harry just leave it hanging when he’s so close to getting an insight into the real Harry behind the tailored suit and the mask of the perfectly controlled gentleman. “What kind of music?”

Harry takes the time to pour them both a glass of water before he replies. “The Clash, the Sex Pistols, Siouxsie & the Banshees, Joy Division,” he says off-handedly. “I came of age at an interesting time.”

“You were a _punk_?”

Harry smiles. “To the horror of my parents. My mother always said it took years off my father’s life the day I pierced my ear with a safety pin.”

Eggsy, half way through taking a sip of water, nearly chokes. When he’s done with his coughing fit, he finds Harry watching him with an amused smile on his lips.

“Everything all right, Eggsy?” he asks sardonically.

“Can’t really imagine you-” Eggsy gestures in a way that is meant to encompass everything about Harry _now_ , “as a rebel.”

“You’d be surprised,” Harry murmurs. Before Eggsy can push him further he moves on. “We didn’t really get around to it the other evening but I suppose we should probably talk about things you most definitely don’t want me to do to you.”

Eggsy nearly chokes for the second time in under five minutes. “ _Here?_ ” he splutters.

“It’s as good as anywhere.” Harry looks around meaningfully, and Eggsy has to admit the other man has a point. There are exactly four other patrons, and they’re all seated at the far end of the restaurant, well out of earshot. “Let’s call it neutral territory, shall we? A good place for negotiation, since you’re willing to take things forward.”

“Think we already sorted out what you want to do.”

Harry gives him a mildly exasperated look. “ _Negotiation_ , Eggsy. What’s off limits for you? What do you not want me to do to you?” He adds, almost as an afterthought, “You mustn’t feel that there’s an onus on you to do anything just because I want it. You’re not beholden to me, if I’m not paying for your time.”

It’s another of Harry’s ways, that; to say something and mean both it and something else at the same time. Because Eggsy’s pretty sure that this conversation would have been much the same if Harry was giving him a thousand quid a night, and he’s not really sure what to make of that. It seems churlish to put forth his own likes and dislikes, to say no to anything Harry wants from him, when his presence here tonight is all about his frantic, selfish desire to get Harry’s hands on him again, any way he can.

And besides, Eggsy can’t pretend to have much experience of anything except sex of the strictly vanilla variety, and Harry’s already made it clear that sex isn’t on the agenda. So that leaves … well, Eggsy isn’t sure what it leaves.

“Don’t leave marks,” he decides eventually. “Not where my stepdad can see ‘em.”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “Is that all?”

Eggsy shrugs, a little defensively. “Don’t know what else you want me to say.”

Harry’s knee bumps against his, underneath the table. It might have been accidental but, from the way Harry is looking at him, Eggsy doesn’t think it was.

“I have to go away tomorrow,” Harry says. “For work.”

It isn’t at all what Eggsy was expecting the other man to say and he stares at him stupidly for a moment before he manages a quiet:

“…ok.”

“I’ll be gone for a few days,” Harry continues. “I won’t have my phone with me. I wouldn’t want you to think that I’m avoiding you if I don’t contact you.”

“Ok,” Eggsy says again. “Does that mean you’re going to tie me up tonight then? Tie me up and spank me?”

Taking Harry by surprise is, Eggsy discovers, _delightful_. Little creases of barely-concealed amusement appear around Harry’s eyes. “You little _shit,_ ” he says. “Perhaps I should do exactly that.”

And Eggsy can picture it, too. Harry telling him to stand up, here, in front of everyone. Putting him over his knee, a hand in the small of his back to hold him down. Those strong, capable hands on Eggsy’s body. _Fuck_.

Harry is watching him, smiling faintly like he knows exactly how hard Eggsy is right now. Maybe he does. Maybe he likes-

_Need a bit of sense knocked into you, don_ _’t you, Mugsy?_

-maybe he likes the idea of hitting Eggsy.

Eggsy’s mood sours in an instant. Harry, of course, notices his abrupt change of mood, even if he doesn’t know the cause of it. He doesn’t ask questions but his knee knocks against Eggsy’s again and Eggsy somehow manages a smile in response.

_Like it rough, don’t you, Mugsy?_

The food arrives shortly after, and they eat in silence. The pie is delicious but it sits in Eggsy’s stomach like a lump of lead, poisoned by the treacherous, insistent words in his head that sound so very much like Dean after a few cans of Stella, the words spat in Eggsy’s face and punctuated with fists.

_Yeah, you fucking know you deserve it, don_ _’t you, Mugsy?_

Eggsy’s stomach rolls. He eyes the door. He could run: he doesn’t think Harry would try to stop him. He could run and never see Harry again and, maybe in ten years or so, he could get through a day without remembering tonight’s events without a combination of horror and nausea.

“Eggsy,” Harry says, when the waitress has cleared their plates away and they’re alone again. “I won’t strike you. Not ever, unless you specifically ask me to, or give me your explicit consent if I request something of you.”

Knowing that Harry’s guessed the source of Eggsy’s sudden about-turn doesn’t make things any better. It’s worse, somehow, to know that Harry can put together everything Eggsy’s told him about Dean to come to what are fairly accurate conclusions. Eggsy can’t meet Harry’s eyes.

“Just not in the face, yeah? No punching me or kicking me or nothing. I’m not against, y’know…” Eggsy trails off, unsure of how to go on and wishing heartily they’d never started this line of conversation in the first place. His face feels like it’s on fire. He wouldn’t be surprised if Harry gave up on this as a bad job and never contacted him again. Eggsy wouldn’t want to contact _himself_ after the mess this conversation has become, and it’s all his fault because Harry has been perfectly nice and polite and it was Eggsy who dropped the idea of _spanking_ into proceedings and promptly fucked things up royally _as usual_ , and if he could go back in time and slap himself he would in a heartbeat, and-

“Eggsy,” Harry says, very quietly. “Would you like dessert? Coffee?”

Eggsy shakes his head. “Let’s just go,” he says to the tabletop. Maybe Harry will take him back to his house and tie him up again and it’ll be like it was the last time. Maybe Harry will just say a polite farewell and never contact him again.

In fact, Harry doesn’t tie Eggsy up that night, or take him home. They walk along the river for a while, dodging the tourists and the late-night joggers, and they talk about nothing of any importance and it’s oddly date-like, Eggsy thinks, for an _arrangement_. The kind of date where Harry might buy him flowers and take him on a boat ride, except he has to settle for a cup of hot chocolate from a burger van and Harry’s hand resting lightly in the small of his back as they make their way up the steps to street level. It’s possibly a sad indiction of Eggsy’s life that it still counts as one of the most romantic evenings he’s ever known.

Harry hails a taxi, holds the door for Eggsy, slips him a couple of twenties for the fare. At the last moment he touches the back of his hand to Eggsy’s cheek, so briefly and so lightly it barely even counts as a caress.

“Good night, Eggsy,” he says, and closes the door.

Eggsy leans back in the seat and tries to ignore the looks the cabbie is giving him the mirror, knowing very well what it probably looks like. What it is.

Whatever. He probably won’t ever see or hear from Harry Hart again.

 

***

 

Harry does roast lamb the second time he cooks for Eggsy, served with apple sauce, roast potatoes, and vegetables. Eggsy hasn't eaten lamb since he was at school, and the way Harry cooks it is a world away from the reheated chewy cardboard the school version had been. He tells Harry that, and Harry smiles and says it's all about getting the oven temperature right, which sounds like complete bollocks to Eggsy. Then again, Eggsy’s hardly an expert on oven temperatures or anything else that isn’t sticking a fork through the cellophane wrap on a microwavable chicken madras.

Harry looks tired tonight, dark smudges under his eyes and a couple of hastily-stifled yawns when he thinks Eggsy isn’t looking. Eggsy is tired too, but maybe not for the same reason. He hasn't spent as much time with his right hand since he was fifteen as he has over the last five days, and it's only got worse since he dared to go into the Halfords on the retail park and buy a couple of bungee cords, the kind you use to tie a bike to a car, with the rest of the money Harry had given him. They're not as soft as the rope Harry used to tie his hands - and Eggsy has a few abrasions to show for it - but he's discovered an entire vein of creativity in himself that he never knew existed when it comes to finding ways to tie himself up in the brief stretches of time when he’s the only one in the flat. He'd deliberately chosen a shirt with long sleeves tonight but of course Harry notices the marks on his wrists, faint though they are, and he reaches over the dinner table to push Eggsy’s sleeves up a little for a better look, not quite touching the skin.

"What are these?" he asks sharply.

"Your fault," Eggsy tells him. He nearly laughs at Harry's look of bewilderment. "I was practising, yeah?"

"Practising," Harry says slowly. His expression is unreadable. "I can only assume that means you enjoyed the experience of being bound.”

"You could say that, yeah." Eggsy concentrates on finishing off the last of his food so he doesn't have to look at Harry. He's very aware of Harry watching him, the heavy weight of his gaze. “So, how was your business trip?”

Harry sighs. “Interminable.”

“You go away a lot?”

“Yes.” Harry doesn’t elaborate.

Eggsy sets his knife and fork down very deliberately and looks at Harry. “So, you’re not gonna kick me out straightaway tonight, are you?”

"No.”

“You gonna tie me up?”

“Yes,” Harry deadpans, and something in Eggsy’s chest leaps as the little creases form around Harry’s eyes again.

“’Bout time,” Eggsy says, and that makes Harry laugh, a proper laugh, and Eggsy thinks, _I did that_.

Harry ties his wrists again, the same way as he did the first time, and then he takes Eggsy through into the living room, which is filled with the same riot of furniture and ornaments and things as the other rooms Eggsy has seen, and has him lie down on the sofa with a cushion under his head. Eggsy watches curiously as Harry fetches another length of rope and proceeds to tie his ankles in a similar fashion; not tightly together, so he can't move, but secure enough that he can't free himself.

"How does that feel?" Harry says finally, straightening up.

Eggsy flexes his ankles. "Fine."

"Tell me if-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Eggsy says with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. "Tell you if anything feels wrong. I know.”

Harry sits down in the armchair, out of Eggsy’s direct eye line unless he turns his head. It should be unnerving, knowing that Harry is watching him and not being able to see him, but the snugness of the ropes around his wrists and ankles as he shifts distracts him.

“Are you warm enough?”

“Yeah.” Eggsy tugs against the ropes again but Harry is, he’s rapidly discovering, very good at this and, while the ropes aren’t uncomfortable, there’s no way he’s getting loose by himself.

He’s getting hard again too, and this time there’s no way he can hide it.

“You like being tied up, don’t you?” Harry’s tone is light, with a hint of amusement, but there’s no mockery to it.

“Like you like tying me up,” Eggsy counters. And then, because he has no patience worth speaking of and no sense of self-preservation, he adds:

“What else are you gonna do to me?”

In answer, Harry gets up and leaves the room and for an awful moment Eggsy thinks he’s pissed him off, until Harry comes back with a chair from the dining room and sets it down next to the sofa.

“How ticklish are you?”

Eggsy stares at Harry’s hand, clamped around his ankle, just above the looped rope. “Oh fuck,” he breathes, as Harry’s fingers slowly skate across the top of his socked foot. “No, seriously … fuck off!” He realises now why Harry made him take his trainers off at the door.

Harry makes a pleased sound and presses his thumb into the side of Eggsy’s ankle and Eggsy actually _whines_ and of course Harry does it again.

“You _are_ ticklish, aren’t you?”

“Stop, no … fuck! Harry, stop!”

Harry _does_ stop, and waits for Eggsy to catch his breath. “Do you _need_ to stop, Eggsy?” he asks, very seriously, when Eggsy has regained some composure, and right there and then Eggsy decides that there’s _no fucking way_ he’s safewording out of this. He shakes his head.

“What do you say if you need to stop?” Harry prompts.

“Manners maketh man.” His voice sounds breathless and reedy, nothing like his own voice. “But I ain’t saying it again.”

“Very good.” Harry studies him for a moment, like he’s a problem to be solved. “Let’s move you to the floor and get you comfortable, shall we? I wouldn’t want you to fall off the sofa.”

_Comfortable_ turns out to be a relative term, once Eggsy is lying on his back on the floor with the cushion under his head. Harry has him draw his knees up to his chest and produces another length of rope that he uses to tie Eggsy’s bound wrists to the rope securing his ankles. It’s very tight, and once Harry rolls him gently onto his side Eggsy finds that he can hardly move at all. He tells Harry this.

“Yes,” Harry says with infuriating patience. “That’s rather the idea.” His hand settles, threateningly, on Eggsy’s ankle. “Still remember your safeword?”

“ _Yes_ , Harry.” Eggsy fixes his gaze on the edge of the hearth and grits his teeth, tensing himself for a torment that doesn’t immediately begin, because Harry’s hand is still there on his ankle, a solid, unmoving weight. “This your thing, is it? A foot fetish?”

Harry snorts. “Hardly.” Eggsy hears and feels him shift, making himself comfortable behind Eggsy.

“Then what? What are you getting out of this?” Eggsy pulls against the ropes a little, testing them out. His leg muscles are starting to ache a little with the strain of the position Harry’s put him in.

Harry’s hand moves, just a little. “Think of it as a means to an end, Eggsy. I get to see you squirm. To struggle against those ropes - which you won’t get out of, by the way. But I shall enjoy watching you try.” His thumb rubs against Eggsy’s ankle again and Eggsy twitches involuntarily. “Just as I shall enjoy listening to you begging me for mercy.”

“No fucking way,” Eggsy says automatically, even as his cock twitches at the thought of it. “I am _not_ begging for mercy.”

“Let’s see, shall we?”

Eggsy tries to be stoic, he really does. It’s not his fault Harry _cheats_ , because instead of relying on the blunt pressure of his fingers, which Eggsy thought he could easily stand, Harry gets a biro and drags the capped end of it along the underside of Eggsy’s left foot and Eggsy yelps and flails - or tries to, because he can barely move - and Harry doesn’t give him any time to recover his equilibrium before he repeats the process on Eggsy’s right foot.

“Fuck!”

“Something wrong, Eggsy?”

“Fuck you! Don’t you fucking- you fucking _twat!_ ”

“Really, Eggsy, I’m not sure what you’re trying to say.”

“Fucking _stop_ , you fucking- oh _fuck_ -”

“If you want me to stop, you’ll have to ask nicely.”

Eggsy squirms frantically against the ropes, trying to twist away, but Harry is unrelenting, one hand on Eggsy’s hip to stop him moving too far while the other mercilessly seeks out the most sensitive spots, the ones that have Eggsy half-laughing, half-sobbing until he’s near-mindless with it, overwhelmed by sensation, cursing Harry with what little breath remains.

Harry pulls away when Eggsy stops squirming, when he’s too exhausted to do anything except twitch weakly against the restraining ropes. Eggsy whines at the loss of contact and Harry’s hand re-settles on his hip, a warm, heavy, reassuring weight.

“It’s all right, Eggsy.”

“Fuck you, I can’t fucking _breathe_ …” Which isn’t exactly true; his sides hurt and Eggsy thinks he might have pulled a muscle but he’s not in any danger of imminent asphyxiation. He senses Harry leaning over him; Harry’s hand on his jaw, gently tilting his head so Harry can look at him.

“I’m going to untie you now.”

“Should fucking _hope_ so,” Eggsy grumbles, but his heart isn’t in it, not with Harry’s fingers pressing lightly against his cheek and Harry’s body against and over his.

And, Eggsy realises belatedly, he isn’t the only one who’s hard.

“Don’t try to stand up straightaway,” Harry counsels as Eggsy’s wrists are freed.

Eggsy has no intention of trying to stand up. He’s exhausted and wired at the same time; a weird combination his brain can’t quite make sense of. He flexes his arms, stretches out his legs when Harry unties the rope around his ankles, and is almost surprised to find that - aside from a little lingering soreness - he’s essentially fine. He ends up back on the sofa, propped up by a couple of cushions, and Harry fetches him a glass of water and a small plate with some Rich Tea biscuits. It’s all very _Harry_ , and he’s still hard, and so is Harry, and Eggsy isn’t at all sure what’s supposed to happen next. Whether this means something or nothing, and whether Harry got what he wanted out of tonight or not.

“So, um,” he says, when he’s eaten two biscuits.

“Yes,” Harry says, settling himself back on the chair. “How are you feeling? All right?”

“Yeah. Is that it? Are we done?”

Harry’s mouth quirks. “Would you like some more?”

_Yes._ “Fuck no.”

Harry eyes him like he can see right through Eggsy’s bullshit. Eggsy deliberately looks away.

“Are you going to do _that_ every time? ‘Cos it’s fucking weird, yeah?”

“I can assure you that I’m a little more inventive than that.” Harry looks almost offended by the suggestion. “However, now I know you’re ticklish…”

“Fuck off!”

Harry smiles, the little creases again forming around his eyes. “You did very well, Eggsy.”

Some of the tension in Eggsy’s chest eases at Harry’s praise. “We’re gonna do this again, yeah?”

“Yes,” Harry confirms. “Yes, we are.”

Maybe it’s the adrenaline that makes him brave, or pride at having endured the torment Harry had inflicted on him without begging for mercy, but either way Eggsy looks pointedly at Harry’s crotch and blurts out:

“I could do something about that.”

Harry blinks, and Eggsy gets that heady shiver of satisfaction at having surprised him again. “Eggsy, I…”

“You telling me you don’t want it?” Eggsy’s anger is fuelled by the humiliation of rejection. Harry wants him, or wants _something_ , and Eggsy is willing and _here_. “What, I’m not good enough for you, is that it? Not your _type_?”

“That has nothing to do with it,” Harry says impatiently.

“Then _what_?”

Harry just smiles. “We’ll talk about it, another time.”

Eggsy stares at the other man in disbelief. “Are you fucking serious? Another _time_?” He gestures at his own crotch. “In case you hadn’t noticed!”

“Oh, I _noticed_.” Harry leans in, his gaze impossibly intense. “And I’m minded not to let you do anything about that, Eggsy. Let you go, all flushed and wanting, like you are now. Maybe I’ll tell the taxi driver to give you the scenic route home as well, just to make you wait a little longer.”

“I fucking hate you,” Eggsy tells him. “I think you should know that.”

Harry laughs, bright and sharp, and that’s the moment Eggsy knows he’s well and truly fucked.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eggsy's home life intrudes into his relationship with Harry. Misunderstandings and miscommunication ensue. Can they work it out or is this the end?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic - which was supposed to be a short (ha!) one-shot - has become a bit of a guilty pleasure for me so thank you for the lovely feedback!
> 
> There's a fair bit of angst in the second half of this chapter, mostly relating to Eggsy's (canon) home life, and a very brief, canon-typical bit of violence.

Harry takes Eggsy out to dinner twice the week after, without it leading to anything else, and Eggsy is starting to think Harry has a fetish for feeding him up.  He doesn’t really feel like complaining, since Harry seems to be a walking directory of little restaurants that don’t look like much from the outside - or the inside, for that matter - but produce the kind of food that makes Eggsy want to fall to his knees and cry. He wants to fall to his knees for other reasons, too, but Harry isn’t making things easy on that front. Eggsy doesn’t even try to pretend to himself any more that he isn’t falling for Harry because he’s somehow tumbled into a huge fucking _sinkhole_ of want and he can’t get out. Maybe Harry knows what he’s doing to Eggsy and maybe he doesn’t, but either way Eggsy is finding it harder and harder to concentrate on anything that isn’t something to do with Harry.

“I am terminally late, I’m afraid,” Harry says when he arrives ten minutes late for their third dinner that month. He slides into the chair opposite Eggsy with his usual grace but Eggsy doesn’t miss the slight wince as he does so.

“You all right?”

Harry glances up sharply. “Yes, why?”

“Looks like you hurt your leg.” Harry’s face has caught the sun since Eggsy last saw him, and the backs of his hands are tanned although, when Harry reaches over for the water and his shirt cuff rides up, Eggsy notes that the tan doesn’t extend past Harry’s wrists. No sunbathing, then. “You been abroad?”

Harry gives him a look of faint exasperation. “Yes. It’s nothing serious. Just a muscle sprain.”

Eggsy lets it drop. Harry isn’t one for talking about himself, or at least he isn’t one for talking about certain aspects of himself. He’ll talk easily about music and films and history and architecture, but sooner or later Eggsy will come up against an unspoken barrier he just can’t cross and it infuriates and fascinates him at the same time.

“That waiter keeps trying to give me a wine list. Do you want some?”

“God, no,” Harry says with feeling. He gets the waiter’s attention and orders two bottles of San Miguel and belatedly looks at Eggsy and says, “I’m sorry, I forgot to ask what you wanted.”

Eggsy rolls his eyes at him. “You didn’t forget.”

Harry fixes him with a particularly stern look. “Are you calling me a liar, Eggsy?”

“Nah.” Eggsy leans back in his chair. “But I know you didn’t forget.”

Harry holds his gaze for a moment longer before he shakes his head and picks up his menu with a long-suffering sigh. “What would you like to eat, Eggsy?” he asks pointedly.

“I don’t know.” Eggsy grins; it’s too easy. “Why don’t you pick for me?”

The look Harry gives him is _priceless_.

Harry, Eggsy realised a while back, rather likes it when Eggsy is _difficult_. He doesn’t say it, of course, because that’s not Harry’s way, but he gets these little creases around his eyes when Eggsy doesn’t do what he’s told, or answers back, like he wants to smile but is managing to hold it back. Harry’s good at that: holding back. Eggsy’s never met anyone so intensely self-contained, so controlled. To have all of Harry’s attention focused on him, and only him, is intoxicating and terrifying all at once. Eggsy wants it over and over again.

They go back to Harry’s after dinner and this time, instead of sitting him down and drawing it out as he usually does, Harry goes straight for the door under the stairs. Eggsy takes off his jacket and goes after him, somewhat bemused.

“We playing Harry Potter then?”

“No, Eggsy,” Harry says. He opens the door and Eggsy sees the stairs leading down. “Come with me.”

The fizz of adrenaline and apprehension in his veins doesn’t stop Eggsy from following Harry down into the cellar, visions of dungeons and chains and maybe some or all of the things he’s been intrigued and horrified by in equal measure during hours of illicit internet browsing running though his mind. The reality turns out to be disappointingly mundane: the cellar is entirely free of dungeon furniture. There are some boxes stacked in one corner, a chair, and a low cupboard, and that’s as far as it goes for furniture. The air is cool and dry and the floor has been swept clean recently. Eggsy wonders if Harry prepared for this.

“Stand next to that pillar,” Harry says without preamble, indicating one of the four wooden pillars that stand floor-to-ceiling. Now that Eggsy looks closely, he can see a metal ring has been driven into the pillar at shoulder height, and the question hovering on his lips evaporates when Harry goes over to the cupboard and opens the doors.

“Not rope this time?”

“No.” Harry crosses the room in four quick steps and takes hold of Eggsy’s left wrist. Eggsy sucks in a breath at the soft scrape of the leather across his skin as Harry fastens the cuff around his wrist. “How’s that?”

“Fine.” Eggsy looks around the cellar again. “You bring many people down here?”

“No.” Harry doesn’t elaborate.

The purpose of the ring becomes clear when Harry clips the cuff to it. It’s not uncomfortable but Harry just smiles when Eggsy tells him that.

“Crouch down. That’s it.”

Harry gets down with him to fasten the other cuff to Eggsy’s right wrist and he’s so close Eggsy can feel the heat of his body. Eggsy leans into the pillar as his cock starts to harden, trying to keep his breathing even and controlled as Harry turns his attention to fastening another, slightly larger cuff around Eggsy’s right ankle.

“There. How’s that?” Harry gets to his feet, wincing again as he does so.

Eggsy tries to raise his right arm and immediately realises that Harry has clipped the cuffs together, so his wrist is secured to his ankle. His left arm meanwhile is stretched above his head, held secured to the metal ring.  He’s completely helpless. And Harry is still standing in front of him and really, Eggsy wouldn’t put up any resistance if Harry wanted to use him right now, if Harry dug those powerful fingers of his into Eggsy’s hair and held his head still while he fucked his mouth.

Not to Eggsy’s complete surprise, Harry merely touches Eggsy’s temple, lightly, and goes to sit in the chair where he can watch Eggsy without Eggsy being able to see him unless he turns his head.

“I do apologise if that’s not a very comfortable position,” Harry says. He sounds entirely unrepentant.

“ _Now_ you’re fucking lying,” Eggsy tells him. He prides himself on being flexible but the position Harry has him in is uncomfortable already and he can tell it’s only going to get worse. “How long am I supposed to stay like this?”

“Let’s see, shall we? Start by counting to a hundred.”

Eggsy curses under his breath - and if Harry hears he doesn’t comment - but starts counting anyway. By twenty his knees are starting to hurt; by fifty he’s starting to shuffle from side to side, trying to find a position where his weight isn’t on his toes. By the time he reaches a hundred, each breath is coming short and fast and it feels like his leg muscles are on fire.

“You can stand, if you like,” Harry says idly. “Would you like some water?”

Eggsy has no idea where Harry got the bottle of mineral water _from_ but he doesn’t care; he tips his head back gratefully into the caress of Harry’s hand while Harry holds the bottle to his lips with the other. Harry helps him stand when he’s done, and while it’s a relief to stretch his legs Eggsy realises quickly that he’s not going to find a comfortable position like this either, bent at the waist, with his head against the pillar. It only occurs to Eggsy after the fact that it’s an incredibly vulnerable position too, bent over and restrained. Easy enough for Harry to tug down his clothing and do whatever he wants to him-

-And he’s getting hard again. _Shit_.

“Start again from one, please,” Harry says composedly, moving back to the chair. “In French this time.”

“I can do one to ten in French,” Eggsy says, gritting his teeth. “That’s as good as you’re getting.”

“Then I’ll have to teach you the rest,” Harry says, in that maddening way of his, and he’s as good as his word, painstakingly taking Eggsy through every number, making Eggsy repeat them back, correcting him every time he makes a mistake, and finally making Eggsy count all the way to hundred again. By this time Eggsy is back in an awkward crouch, knees either side of the pillar, alive to nothing but the feedback loop of sensation and Harry’s soft, honeyed tones washing over him. When he gasps out the final _cent_ he’s all but collapsed against the rough wood, every muscle in his body on fire, his breathing harsh and laboured and sweat trickling down his back. Harry comes over to him and Eggsy gives him a baleful glare, too exhausted to tell him to fuck off with any kind of vigour but quite prepared to if Harry instructs him to start again from the beginning.

Harry’s hand settles in his hair instead. “Well done, Eggsy,” he says, sounding more gentle than he has before. “Very well done.”

Something in Eggsy settles at that, something warm and soft unfurling in his chest as he basks in the warmth of Harry’s praise. He closes his eyes and holds still while Harry releases his left wrist from the pillar and eases him down to the floor to unfasten the other restraints.

“I wasn’t sure you were going to make it,” Harry tells him.

Eggsy opens one eye and glares balefully at him. “I could take more.”

“I’m sure you could.” Harry takes hold of each of Eggsy’s wrists in turn, inspecting them carefully, for what Eggsy doesn’t know. He doesn’t think there’s any lasting damage - his muscles ache and he’s tired and thirsty but nothing that screams _injury_.

But he feels - different. On edge, restless, a little bit frantic. He instinctively turns into Harry when the other man offers him water again, blindly seeking him out and clinging to the soft fabric of his shirt. Harry seems startled for a second, unresponsive, and Eggsy whines, a small, pathetic sound he wouldn’t have believed could come out of his own mouth and which he’d be embarrassed about in any other context, except that Harry gathers him up in his arms and pulls him in close, one large hand in the small of Eggsy’s back, an anchor of safety and security that pulls the world back into focus around him. And Harry keeps him close even after Eggsy’s breathing has settled back to something like normal; a hand under his elbow to help him to ease him to his feet, a guiding hand  on his hip as they go back upstairs. He sits on Harry’s kitchen counter while Harry makes him an omelette and ends up eating it right there, watching Harry wash up.

“You should get a dishwasher,” Eggsy offers eventually.

“I have one.” Harry points at one of the cabinets. “This is quicker.”

“I can dry, if you like.”

Harry gives him a careful, considering look. “All right.” He waits until Eggsy has hopped down from the counter and is reaching for the tea towel before he adds, “You did do very well, Eggsy.”

Eggsy fumbles the tea towel and he can feel his face heating up as he bends down to retrieve it. “Thanks,” he mumbles. “You don’t, you don’t have to apologise or nothing.”

“I wasn’t going to.” Harry’s expression softens his words and takes the sting out of them. It’s not that Harry meant to hurt him, Eggsy realises, but that he doesn’t think Eggsy _needs_ the apology.

And maybe he doesn’t.

“Will you do that again?” he asks.

Harry’s lips quirk. “Not tonight. But yes. I think you like it, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Eggsy says honestly.

“Good. Perhaps I’ll teach you to count to a hundred in German as well next time.”

Eggsy stares at him incredulously. “ _Fuck_ off.”

Harry touches his wrist lightly, and smiles. Eggsy could get used to seeing that smile.

 

*

 

As the weeks go by, Eggsy ends up telling Harry to fuck off a _lot_. He learns fairly early on that Harry’s house is very well sound-proofed, so he can make as much noise as he likes without the neighbours calling the police, and subsequently he doesn’t hold back on letting Harry know _exactly_ what he thinks of him when Harry puts a handful of dry rice in his trainers and makes him carry books between the living room and the dining room for forty-five minutes while Eggsy discovers just how much of a torment walking on a handful of dry rice can be, or when Harry ties his ankles to his thighs and his wrists to his upper arms and makes him crawl awkwardly through the house to retrieve a key and bring it back in his mouth, only for Harry to take it from him and toss it casually the length of the hallway. Eggsy’s response to Harry’s polite, “Bring it back, please,” is profanity-laced, loud, and prolonged.

But the thing is, it’s not _bad_. Eggsy feels embarrassed sometimes, and a little bit humiliated, and sometimes it actually hurts, even if the pain is temporary and never more than Eggsy can handle, but it’s good too, and Eggsy isn’t always sure what to make of that.When Harry isn’t around - he goes on business trips more often than Eggsy would like and sometimes he doesn’t want to see Eggsy for a few days or a week when he returns - he experiments by himself, tying his wrists to his bed frame; once, and only once, not paying quite enough attention and nearly leaving himself unable to get free. The thought of _Harry_ catching him is intoxicating but the thought of Dean catching him like that puts an end to his experiments for a week or so.

Because that’s another problem. Dean might be a thug and bully but he isn’t a complete idiot and he has more than enough minions desperate to curry favour for it soon to get back to him that Eggsy disappears from the estate on a reasonably regular basis. From there it’s a short step to Dean finding out about the incident with the Pavlides brothers, and Eggsy gets back from Harry’s one rainy Wednesday evening to be greeted with a solid punch to the solar plexus and a torrent of abuse. Eggsy tunes out his mum’s pleas and his sister’s screaming and focuses on pulling oxygen into his lungs and keeping his hands up to protect his head in case Dean decides to punctuate his questions with his fists.

If Dean knew what Harry was _really_ doing to him, Eggsy thinks, he’d probably be stunned into silence. The thought amuses him, in a strange, twisted way.

“Dean, love,” his mum begs. “Come to bed, please.” Watching his mum tugging at Dean’s arm, trying to get his attention onto her instead of Eggsy, makes Eggsy want to vomit, but her attempt at distraction works: Dean turns away from Eggsy with a final derisive snort.

Left to his own devices, Eggsy turns up the volume of the TV to drown out the noise from their bedroom and gets Daisy out of her crib and plays with her for a while.

“What we going to do, princess?” he asks her, and she looks at him in that disconcertingly _old_ way she does sometimes, like she’s already seen enough shit to last her a lifetime.

Once he’s got her down, Eggsy takes two paracetamol and goes to bed, wincing when he gets undressed and sees the livid mark Dean left on his body. Not a problem, he thinks. He’s had worse. A couple of days and it’ll hardly hurt at all.

Of course Harry calls him the next day, just after noon.

“Thought you were going abroad.” Eggsy is on his way back from the corner shop, not because he wanted anything but because he couldn’t stand another minute sitting in a flat that reeks of booze and fags and sex. “What happened?”

“Plans change,” Harry says shortly, and he doesn’t sound like he’s in a good mood. “Come over for seven, please.”

He could decline, probably, but that would mean spending the evening with Dean or avoiding Dean’s flunkies down the Black Prince. Neither is appealing. “We going out to dinner?”

“I thought we’ve have takeaway. There’s a place around the corner that does a very good chicken tikka masala.”

“Don’t feel like cooking, then?”

“No. There’s nothing in the fridge, anyway.”

Eggsy thinks it over for all of five seconds. “All right.” If Harry’s in a pissy mood then an hour or so of tormenting Eggsy will almost certainly help restore his good humour, and Eggsy could do with the distraction. “I’ll be there.”

He almost regrets it when Harry opens the door and he gets a good look at him, because Harry looks awful: there are dark, dark smudges under his eyes and he looks unnaturally pale and drawn.

“Bloody hell, Harry,” Eggsy says, instinctively reaching for him. “You look like shit. What happened?”

Harry clasps his hand briefly before stepping back to let Eggsy in. Everything about him radiates tension and wound-up energy and Eggsy desperately wants to do something about it. “Nothing you need to worry about, Eggsy. Would you like a drink?”

“A beer?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of a Coke.”

“No Pepsi?”

“Heathen.”

Eggsy grins at Harry’s retreating back as he toes off his trainers. He’s already doing something good, he thinks. It’s nice to think that just his presence helps Harry.

“I want to tie you up tonight,” Harry says when Eggsy walks into the kitchen. He hands Eggsy a can of Coke. “And I want to do something you haven’t done before.”

Eggsy pops the ring pull of his can and tries to ignore the hardening of his cock. “Pretty much everything you do to me is something I haven’t done before so, yeah, ok.”

Harry nods, like he was expecting that, and shows Eggsy what he’s holding in his other hand. “I’m going to try it here; if you can’t stand it we can do without.”

“It’s a fucking blindfold, Harry,” Eggsy says exasperatedly. “Not exactly hardcore.”

Harry, mercifully, doesn’t point out that Eggsy’s actual experience of this sort of thing is limited to what he’s done with Harry; instead he encourages Eggsy to turn around to face the counter and moves in close behind him. Eggsy grips the countertop and tries not to think about Harry just _taking_ him like this, bending him over the counter, fucking him hard with a hand on the nape of Eggsy’s neck.

“ _Breathe_ , Eggsy,” Harry murmurs, as he slides the blindfold into place. The material is soft to the touch and deceptively light, and once Harry fastens it at the back of Eggsy’s head Eggsy can’t see a thing and what seemed like nothing suddenly _is_ something, with Harry still close behind him and Harry’s hands a warm weight on his shoulders. “How does that feel?”

“It’s- it’s ok.” Eggsy blinks a few times, in case it makes a difference. It doesn’t.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Harry.”

Harry takes him to the cellar, walking in front of Eggsy and talking him down the steps. Without sight, every sensation is heightened, and when Harry cuffs him to the pillar Eggsy shivers at the touch of Harry’s hands on the sensitive skin on the inside of his wrist.

But then things take a turn for the worse: Harry cuffs Eggsy’s right hand to his left ankle, twisting his upper body and immediately reminding Eggsy that Dean punched him hard the previous evening.

“Is that all right?” Harry asks, closer than Eggsy expected him to be. Eggsy can’t help flinching a little.

“Yeah,” he says, flushing. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

It isn’t fine. There’s no universe in which it’s fine. It _hurts_ , and however much Eggsy tells himself that he managed something similar last time and can manage it again, by the time he counts up the first hundred he’s slumped against the pillar and breathing hard. He thinks he’s going to be sick.

“Eggsy,” Harry says quietly. “Do you need to stop?”

Eggsy shakes his head. He starts counting again in French, and gets to nine before Harry is suddenly _there_ , cupping Eggsy’s face in his hands and tilting his head back so that Harry can look at his face.

“Eggsy.” Harry’s voice is low and urgent. “I’m going to let you down.”

Eggsy shakes his head furiously. “ _Dix_ ,” he manages. It hurts to even _breathe_.

Harry thumbs his cheek. “Yes, Eggsy. That’s enough now.”

“‘M not… not the safeword.”

“No, you’re done. That’s enough.” Harry’s tone leaves no room for argument.

_Fuck._

Eggsy blinks back tears as Harry carefully uncuffs him and removes the blindfold. He curls into himself, not wanting to look at Harry. The relief of being released is countered by the utter mortification of having failed the task Harry set for him. Maybe it would be easier if Harry said something but the other man doesn’t say a word; he just takes Eggsy back upstairs - a slow, unsteady procession of Harry guiding a stumbling Eggsy who somehow can’t stop shaking - and settles him on the sofa before fetching him his Coke from the kitchen and a soft, thick blanket from wherever Harry keeps such things. Then he sits in the armchair across from Eggsy, his expression horribly blank, and just _waits_ and Eggsy would be quite happy if the ground opened up and swallowed him whole, because he’s fucked up _big_ time this time and Harry is angry with him and Eggsy has no idea what to say to fix this..

Eventually, after what could have been minutes or hours or days, Harry gets up and comes over to Eggsy again and kneels down next to the sofa.

“You’re hurt,” he says, very quietly.

“Not by you.”

Harry frowns. “Show me.”

There’s no thought of arguing: Eggsy silently moves the blanket aside and pulls up his shirt just enough to reveal the bruise. It looks worse than he remembers, a cornucopia of crimson and indigo.

Harry’s jaw tightens. “Who?”

“My stepdad. Wanted to know where I was last night, didn’t he?”

“And what did you tell him?” Harry’s steely gaze could cut a man to shreds.

“I didn’t tell him nothing.” Panicked, Eggsy’s voice rises. “If he knew about you he’d be round here, yeah? I didn’t say nothing.” Instinctively, unthinkingly, he brings his arms up to protect his head.

Harry stares at him, eyes wide in horrified shock.

_Fuck._

“Eggsy…” Harry begins carefully. He reaches for Eggsy’s arm but seems to think better of it at the last moment and his hand settles on the blanket instead. “Eggsy, I’m not going to hit you.”

“You’re pissed off at me,” Eggsy points out. He’s not sure the humiliation could get any worse.

Harry sighs. “Yes. But not about this. And that doesn’t mean I’m going to knock seven bells out of you. Any anyway,” he adds, as if to forestall Eggsy’s reply, “it’s late and I’m tired. I think it’s best if we call it a night, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Eggsy says numbly. Apparently he was wrong: the humiliation _could_ get worse. “Yeah, ok.”

Harry gives him a small smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and, really, that’s worse than a punch would have been. Knowing that he’s let Harry down, that Harry is angry and disappointed in him, is _devastating_ , and the wave of nausea that washes over him has nothing to do with his injury.

“Can I see you tomorrow night?”

Harry stands up, brushing down his trousers. “I’m afraid I will be going away tomorrow. Work.”

“Later in the week, maybe?” Eggsy hates how desperate he sounds but he doesn’t want to leave it like this, doesn’t want the last words he hears from Harry Hart to be an insipid dismissal.

“I’m not sure how long I’ll be away.”

“Well, that’s fucking convenient, isn’t it?” Frustration propels Eggsy to his feet. “Fuck you, Harry. This is just a game for you, isn’t it? What, the likes of me ain’t worth your respect?”

“If you remember,” Harry says, cold and precise, “I have been nothing _but_ respectful of you.”

The condescension fans the flames of Eggsy’s anger into outright rage. “Yeah, feels like it. Fuck you, Harry. You don’t give a fuck about me. You can find someone else to play your sick little games with, I’m fucking done with it.”

He’s half way to the door before he’s finished the sentence, half-expecting Harry to come after him. To apologise. To let Eggsy apologise.

But Harry doesn’t come after him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three weeks after things went disastrously wrong for Eggsy, he goes looking for Harry again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a two-for-one this time, as what was going to be one chapter got away from me a little!
> 
> Harry and Eggsy are as proud and stubborn as each other ... maybe someone talked a bit of sense into Harry ;)

It's daylight the second time Eggsy goes to Harry's house, three weeks after whatever was going on between them fell apart so disastrously. He thinks that if he goes on a Saturday and doesn't text Harry beforehand, Harry might not have a chance to avoid him this time. And Eggsy needs to see him, pride and dignity be damned, because the lack of him is like a nagging irritation under his skin, a constant tugging at his heart, and Eggsy can’t leave it like that, with harsh words and cold eyes. He can’t _function_. On one level he knows it’s pathetic, and that Harry is probably avoiding him for a reason, but he just wants to talk to him one last time, say _I_ _’m sorry, sorry I wasn’t good enough, sorry I didn’t do what you asked me to do_.

_Please give me another chance_.

But there's still no answer when he knocks at Harry’s door, and no sign of movement inside the house. Just to add insult to injury, it starts to rain as Eggsy is trudging disconsolately back to the main road and by the time he makes it back to the estate it’s getting dark and he's soaked to the skin and freezing cold. He spends his last £1.50 on chips, only to walk out of the chippy and straight into the stab vest of one of his all-time least favourite people.

"Hello, Eggsy. Long time no see."

“Mr Rowell.” Eggsy has had the misfortune to know PC Rowell of the Metropolitan Police Service since he was 13 years old. They first met when Rowell cautioned Eggsy for lifting a bottle of vodka and a KitKat in Tesco and their relationship has only gone downhill since. "Thought you was moving on. _Elite_ officer like you."

Rowell's face, never an appealing sight, twists into something even more ugly than usual. Eggsy belatedly notices his sidekick, who looks like he's two weeks into the job and regretting his life choices.

"Trying to be clever, are we, Eggsy?" Rowell sneers.

"Don't need to try, bruv. I'm free to go, yeah?"

Rowell just snorts. Eggsy half-expects him to try and knock the chips out of his hand or something equally childish but Rowell lets him walk away. Eggsy hears him talking to his protégé though, his guttural voice echoing down the street.

"...little scrote Eggsy Unwin..."

Eggsy tunes out the rest of it; it’s nothing he hasn’t heard before anyway. Rowell seems to have endless enthusiasm for trying to fit Eggsy up for such serious crimes as walking down the road and allowing a police officer to embarrass himself in public, less enthusiasm for actually doing anything when Dean broke Eggsy’s arm, or when Dean put his mum in hospital when she was pregnant with Daisy.

Eggsy takes a sharp detour to avoid a couple of Dean’s goons loitering outside William Hill, and eats his chips on the balcony of a third-floor apartment in one of the new blocks that back onto the estate, watching the raindrops bounce off the paving and thinking about the kind of person who spends three hundred and fifty thousand quid on an apartment the size of a shoebox overlooking the railway line and a care home and then doesn’t even bother to move in. If Eggsy had that kind of money he wouldn’t waste it like that: he’d buy his mum a house, for a start. Somewhere nice, somewhere away from the graffiti and the used syringes and the smell of piss in the stairwells. Somewhere away from Dean.

The chances of Eggsy ever getting that kind of money together, however, are up there with Eggsy’s chances of going to the moon.

He stays on the balcony for a while, longer than he intended. His options for the rest of the night are limited anyway and it’s peaceful in his little hideaway, sheltered from the rain and the cold wind and given some free entertainment in the form of a couple of lads trying to jack a Focus parked outside the boarded-up kebab place on the corner. They’re so inept Eggsy is almost tempted to go down and show them how it’s done but they give up and go off in search of an easier target long before Eggsy can be bothered to move.

It’s nearly eight by the time Eggsy finally pushes himself up from the floor and steps over to the side of the balcony, where he can jump out to the drainpipe he climbed up from the bin store. He hesitates, a sudden sense of unease nagging at him. He scans the street below for threats, paying careful attention to the shadows, but there’s nothing out of place, nothing that could be a threat. He glances back at the dark windows of the apartment; there’s something unsettling about the blank emptiness there too, for no reason Eggsy can put his finger on.

He shakes his head: he doesn’t believe in ghosts or any of that stuff. It’s his imagination, that’s all. Lack of sleep. Eggsy swings a leg over the parapet, kicks off, and gets a hold of the drainpipe, letting his own weight bear him down to the roof of the bin store. He lands softly, and as he brushes himself off he takes another look around.

Harry Hart is standing underneath the streetlight on the other side of the road, watching him.

Eggsy blinks, expecting the vision to disappear, nothing more than a conjuration of his fevered imagination.

It doesn’t. Harry’s still standing there. He looks completely out of place here and at the same time entirely at ease.

Eggsy takes his time climbing down to ground level, torn between desperately not wanting to take his eyes off Harry in case the man disappears as quickly as he appeared, and at the same time wanting to avoid any sort of interaction that might add to the utter humiliation of their last encounter.

Harry doesn’t move as Eggsy crosses the road to him, just watches him with an impassive expression on his face.

_What are you doing here?_ Eggsy wants to ask. He can’t speak, though. His throat feels tight, like he’s choking.

“You’re getting wet,” Harry says incongruously. He gestures Eggsy closer, bringing him under the shelter of his umbrella.

“It’s peeing it down, that’s why.” Harry smells as good as Eggsy remembers and it takes all of Eggsy’s self-control not to discard all semblance of dignity and just throw himself at the other man, bury himself into Harry’s warmth and beg for forgiveness, for anything Harry wants, if Harry will only let things go back to how they were. “Harr-”

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, cutting Eggsy off.

Eggsy blinks. He wishes he had more light, to see Harry’s expression clearly, because he has no idea where Harry is going with this.

“I was … careless with you. That was wrong of me.” Harry stops, clearing his throat before he continues. “I’m sorry, Eggsy.”

A van goes past, sending a spray of water into the air that narrowly misses them. “Ok,” Eggsy says. He hesitates. “I’m sorry too. I’ll try harder next time, honest.” _If there is a next time._ “I wasn’t … I could’ve done it.”

Harry visibly tenses; Eggsy can’t help taking half a step back, which of course Harry notices.

“Still afraid of me, I see.”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“And yet you think I might strike you.”

Eggsy swallows thickly. Of course he’s beyond redemption, of course. Harry isn’t interested in his apologies.

A car goes past, moving slowly. Eggsy clocks the markings and the scowling face behind the wheel and swears under his breath. Naturally it’s Rowell; like his night isn’t going badly enough.

“You should get going,” he despondently tells Harry. “Or else that twat is going to do you for soliciting.”

“I doubt it,” Harry says mildly. “But perhaps we should take this to a slightly less damp location. Shall we?”

At first Eggsy has no idea what Harry is indicating, until he turns his head and sees the taxi idling at the kerb. Eggsy hadn’t even heard it pull up, or noticed Harry flagging it down.

The police car is doing a three-point turn further up the street. Harry stands holding the door of the taxi for him, waiting.

Eggsy briefly debates not going, not prolonging the agony of what is surely Harry gently but devastatingly ending whatever it is between them, but he doesn’t feel up to dealing with Rowell again either and at least Harry doesn’t have the power to get him banged up for the night on a charge of talking to someone in the street. He gets into the taxi, and Harry smoothly folds up the umbrella and climbs in beside him, pulling the door closed a heartbeat before the taxi pulls away from the kerb.

Eggsy wouldn’t put it past Rowell to put the lights on and pull them over but when he tells Harry that the other man just smiles.

They don’t get pulled over.

_Slightly less damp location_ turns out to be a small cafe half a mile from the estate, where the owner takes one look at Harry and pulls himself up to his full not-particularly impressive height and says:

“What can I get you?”

“Two teas please,” Harry says pleasantly. He glances at Eggsy, passing him his umbrella to hold. “Pick a seat.”

There are no other customers. Eggsy chooses the table furthest from the counter, reasoning that their conversation isn’t going to be one he wants the owner to overhear. Not that he thinks he would make any trouble about it if he did: as far as he can see the man is all but calling Harry _sir_.

_Fuck_ , Eggsy’s missed him.

“You don’t take sugar, do you?” Harry says as he deposits Eggsy’s tea in front of him before taking his seat opposite Eggsy.

“No.” Eggsy cups his hands around the mug, realising for the first time how cold he is.

They sit in silence for a while, drinking their tea. Eggsy watches Harry surreptitiously, drinking in the sight of him. Harry looks better than he did the last time Eggsy saw him but there’s a small scrape on his cheekbone, a few days old but still raw. Eggsy wonders how he got it, if Harry got in a fight. It looks like someone hit him. Remembering what happened to the Pavlides brothers, Eggsy suspects Harry won the fight.

“You must forgive me,” Harry says eventually, in that carefully precise way of his. “I had no idea you thought I was angry with you for not completing the task I set you.”

Eggsy, halfway through the action of raising the mug to his lips, stares at him in confusion. “What?” he manages.

“I thought I’d made it clear, Eggsy - but apparently I didn’t, and I’m sorry for that - that I would only ever ask you to _try_. I wasn’t angry at you for not completing the task.”

“You _were_ angry,” Eggsy points out. He feels like he doesn’t have a grip on this conversation, or what Harry is getting at.

“Yes,” Harry says shortly. “But not particularly at you, or at least not for the reason you seem to assume.”

Eggsy glances out at the street, the people walking past, the steady flow of traffic. So normal, so mundane, so _flat_ in comparison with Harry, who has a presence that seems to distort space and time, at least as far as Eggsy’s concerned.

“Eggsy,” Harry says quietly, bringing Eggsy’s attention back to him.

“Sorry,” Eggsy apologises. “Why were you pissed off at me then?”

Harry takes his time answering, long enough that Eggsy starts to think he won’t answer at all. When he finally speaks, his voice is measured.

“Whenever there is potential for harm - as there was with anything you and I did together - trust is vitally important.”

“I trust you!” It comes out louder than Eggsy intended, loud enough to make the owner turn around. He can’t help it; the way Harry so carefully uses the past tense to speak about them cuts him to the core.

“Do you?” Harry sips his tea, never taking his eyes off Eggsy.

“Yes!”

“And yet you didn’t tell me you were injured. You didn’t tell me that your injuries made the position I put you in painful from the start. How little trust you had in me, Eggsy.”

It would have been easier if Harry had shouted at him. If he’d banged his fists on the table, or taken out his anger on Eggsy physically. Anything but the devastating, merciless shredding of Eggsy’s soul that comes from those softly-spoken words.

“I’m sorry,” he says. It sounds hopelessly inadequate.

Harry dismisses his apology with a careless wave of his hand. “The greater fault was mine, Eggsy. I should have realised much sooner that you were experiencing genuine difficulties. I was … distracted, and that is inexcusable.”

Eggsy doesn’t know what to say to that. “I survived, yeah?” he says eventually, trying to make light of it. “No harm done.”

“That’s not the point, Eggsy,” Harry says stiffly.

“So what _is_ the point? Three fucking weeks, Harry! Where the fuck have you been?” Eggsy hates the way his voice wobbles a little on the last few words, the rawness of his emotions spilling over. Harry’s expression is blank, and he just keeps _looking_ at Eggsy, and it’s _awful_. “What I said was shit, and I’m sorry, but-”

“The _point_ is that I wanted to apologise to you for my carelessness,” Harry cuts him off coldly. “It was wrong of me to neglect you, wrong of me to assume that you would tell me if something was wrong, and wrong of me to allow you to leave my house that night in the state you were in, and to leave… well, I needed to talk to you.”

“And tell me to fuck off, right?”

“That’s not quite how I would phrase it.” Harry gives Eggsy a particularly expressionless look. “I think it’s for the best if we d-don’t see each other again.”

Eggsy nearly misses it, that slight catch in Harry’s voice, and if he’d been looking away he’d have missed the flicker in Harry’s eyes too. But he doesn’t miss them, and the wave of despair and anguish that had been roaring up inside him collapses as if it never was, because Harry is a _fucking liar_ and Eggsy is _on_ to him and he’s not going to let Harry put on a front of implacability and pretend that they’re nothing more than two people who happen to be drinking together in a greasy spoon cafe on a wet, windy night.

“No,” he says bluntly. “No, I don’t think so.”

“This isn’t up for discussion, Eggsy. It’s for the best that we don’t see each other again.”

“You’re a _shit_ liar, Harry.”

Harry’s eyes narrow. “I can assure you that’s not true.”

Eggsy shakes his head, holding Harry’s gaze as he slides out of his seat. He sees Harry’s startlement, hears the hitch in his breath as Eggsy sinks to his knees on the floor of the cafe, half-hidden from the view of anyone passing by outside but clearly visible to anyone who might happen to walk in. His heart is hammering in his chest but all the doubts and confusion have cleared away to leave nothing but this, now, here.

A challenge, a gamble, a last roll of the die: Eggsy has always been good at those.

Harry stares down at him, and Eggsy would almost think him unaffected except that from his vantage point he can clearly see the thrumming pulse above the collar of Harry’s perfectly pressed shirt. He shivers as Harry’s hand settles lightly against the side of his face. The weight of Harry’s gaze could level mountains.

“I don’t suppose it would do me any good to tell you to go away,” Harry says with deceptive mildness.

“Nope.” Eggsy can’t hold back a smile. He knows Harry’s secret now, and Harry knows he knows. Harry wants him. Not some nameless, faceless doll he can use for entertainment and discard when he’s done: he wants _Eggsy_.

Maybe nearly as much as Eggsy wants Harry.

“Eggsy.” Harry’s thumb rubs across Eggsy’s cheekbone. “Are you very sure?”

“Very.” Eggsy turns his head into the caress. “Want to go back to yours, you make me some dinner?”

Harry sighs, as if this is some sort of terrible imposition on his time. “I don’t suppose I have any choice in the matter, do I?”

“Not really,” Eggsy says cheerfully.

Harry mutters something under his breath that sounds like _the death of me_ but he still hasn’t removed his hand from Eggsy’s cheek.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With at least some of the misunderstandings cleared up, Eggsy & Harry's relationship starts to develop further.

They get a taxi back to Harry’s, and the silence between them is comfortable now, even if Eggsy is still keyed up and on edge. Harry keeps looking at him, little sideways glances like Eggsy’s a puzzle he wants to solve. But when the taxi pulls up at the end of the mews, Harry gets out to hold the door for Eggsy.

"Gonna make me a fancy meal, Harry?" Eggsy teases as he gets out of the taxi. It’s still raining, but only a light drizzle now, nothing like the earlier deluge.

"I was thinking of cheese on toast."

Eggsy shrugs. "Yeah, fine. Sounds good."

“Let’s get inside then.”

“Harry,” Eggsy says urgently, catching Harry’s arm. “You haven’t paid the taxi.”

“Yes, of course. How forgetful of me.” Harry turns back, leaning down to speak to the driver. “How much is that?”

Eggsy feels a bit bad about pointing it out now; then again, Harry can afford it. Or maybe he can’t. Eggsy has assumed, based on what Harry was prepared to pay him. Maybe Harry isn’t as well-off as Eggsy thought. Maybe he makes a habit of _not_ paying for things. Maybe-

Eggsy is jerked out of his reverie by the sound of Harry calling his name.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

“Obviously you need something to eat,” Harry says. He doesn’t seem especially unhappy that Eggsy drew attention to his oversight.

“Yeah. Yeah, something like that.”

“Come on then. Let’s get out of this rain.”

Harry unlocks the door. "Take your shoes off," he instructs.

"Harry, I swear to God, if you start tickling me again..."

Harry flicks on the hall light. The smile he gives Eggsy is a genuine one, a warm, affectionate smile that settles the last of the butterflies in Eggsy's stomach. "No tickling tonight. I promise."

He doesn’t take his own off, though. Eggsy notes it and almost immediately gets distracted, because Harry's house looks exactly the same as it did the last time he was here and it feels _right_ to be here, familiar, like he belongs here, with Harry. Eggsy follows Harry through to the kitchen and perches on the countertop while Harry makes him the promised cheese on toast. They don't talk, but the silence isn't uncomfortable. And there’s something hypnotic about watching Harry work.

"So," Eggsy says, when he's polished off the last of the toast. "This means you want me to keep coming round, yeah?"

Harry takes the plate off him and puts it in the dishwasher. "I'm not sure I have a choice," he says wryly.

“You came after me,” Eggsy points out.

“It was either that or have you loitering outside my house on a weekly basis. My intention was to put an end to it and walk away but, as I’ve already discovered, you have a habit of making me alter my plans.

Eggsy watches him for a moment, while Harry pours them both a glass of apple juice. "I'm sorry," he says quietly. “Not for- I mean, I’m sorry for before.”

Harry pushes one of the glasses across the countertop to him. "I know. And I know you won't do it again. You must tell me if something is wrong, Eggsy. I don't expect anything of you when you're ill or injured or even if you simply don't feel like it."

"It ain't supposed to work like that though, yeah."

Harry frowns. "What do you mean?"

Eggsy gestures to himself, and then to Harry. "This. You and me. You tell me what to do, and I do it. Or you do stuff to me." Although not the things Eggsy would like him to do. He doesn't say that part out loud.

Now Harry looks distinctly displeased and Eggsy's heart sinks. Everything was going so well, and somehow he's fucked it up again and he's not even sure how. He re-runs their conversation through his head, trying to work it out.

"Eggsy," Harry says, with the air of a man holding on to his patience by the slenderest of threads. "Do you think so little of me, that I would want to bully you into submission?"

"What? No! I just... I don't mind you telling me what to do. Or making me do stuff."

Harry’s scowl deepens. "Do you think I want to deliberately injure you? Is that what you think of me, Eggsy?"

"No." Impulsively, Eggsy catches hold of Harry's sleeve and tugs. Harry doesn't resist as Eggsy pulls him closer but his body language is stiff and closed-off. He’s hurt, Eggsy realises. Wounded pride: no less painful than physical wounds. “I want this, Harry,” Eggsy tells him. “I want you.”

Harry studies him, and Eggsy would give anything to know what’s going on in his head. Harry’s a mystery wrapped up in a conundrum but Eggsy knows one of his secrets now and Harry hasn’t kicked him out yet and-

-and Harry’s hand cups his jaw, tilting his head just _so_ , so Harry can kiss him.

The kiss is light, fleeting, and almost chaste, but Eggsy’s body lights up with want, with need, and when Harry pulls away his face is flushed, like he feels the same way. Like Eggsy affects him the exact same way he affects Eggsy. Like he’s still touching Eggsy because he can’t bear not to.

“Rules,” he says, breathless.

“I love it when you talk dirty to me, Harry.”

Harry tries to look stern and fails miserably. “Do pay attention.”

Eggsy reaches for him again and this time Harry catches hold of his wrists and pins his hands to the countertop, and Eggsy always thought his upper body strength was pretty good but Harry’s grip is like _iron_ and he can’t move an inch.

_Oh_.

Harry glances at Eggsy’s crotch and smirks. Eggsy scowls at him.

“Not fair.”

“We’ll do something about that later,” Harry promises. “If you still want to.”

“Harry, I’m not sure I can make it any clearer that I _want_ to.” Eggsy strains against Harry’s hold on him, just to make a point.

Harry is watching him closely. Eggsy’s isn’t sure what Harry’s looking for or whether he finds it but the other man nods, finally, and lets go and takes a step back, putting some space between them. Eggsy pouts at him but Harry shakes his head sharply.

“No. I want you to have a clear head. Drink your apple juice.”

“You lecture me about safewords again, I’m gonna kick you in the balls,” Eggsy tells him, jiggling his foot warningly. “Don’t think I won’t.”

Harry gives him an exasperated look but it’s one tinged with amusement and fondness, not anger. “No. I _am_ going to make it very clear that I will never force you to do anything. Which doesn’t mean that I will always be particularly easy on you: I will push you and I will ask you to do things you may not find comfortable or even enjoyable - but which please me - but I will never _force_ you to do them. You always have the option of-”

“Telling you to fuck off?”

“I think we’ve already discussed that.” Harry takes a sip of his own juice. “Have you always enjoyed the things I’ve asked you to do previously?”

“No,” Eggsy says honestly. “I mean- I did, but…”

“You enjoyed the feeling of accomplishment?”

“Yeah.” It’s more than that, though, and Eggsy tries to think of a way of expressing it. He’d thought getting on his knees for Harry in the middle of the cafe might have conveyed his point but apparently not as clearly as he’d hoped. “That. And, and doing it for you.”

“I see.” Eggsy would think Harry unaffected if not for the faint blush staining his cheeks. He files that under his mental list of things he’s learnt about Harry.

“I like it when you push me.” Eggsy rubs at his wrist, where Harry held him. “And I know I don’t have to take it. I want to though.” Eggsy sees Harry start to frown and he presses on before Harry can withdraw again behind that mask of aloofness he puts on like armour. “I get why you were pissed off at me. Should have told you. Promise it won’t happen again.”

Harry studies him for a long, long moment, long enough that Eggsy starts to worry that he’s cocked it up. “Do you forgive me for my inattention?” he asks eventually. His voice is very soft, so quiet Eggsy has to strain to hear him. “I won’t be so careless of you again.”

“I know you won’t. I forgive you, yeah?”

Harry touches the back of his hand to Eggsy’s cheek, just as he did the first time he took Eggsy out for dinner. “I will never hit you like this, Eggsy, or punish you out of anger. I have no desire to cause you pain just for the sake of it.”

“Just inconvenience me, right?”

“Exactly.”

“Can I ask for things?”

“Of course.” Harry encourages him to jump down from the countertop. “You can ask for anything you like and we’ll discuss it. And if you really don’t like something, tell me and we won’t do it again.”

“I can ask for anything?”

“Within reason.”

Eggsy grins. “You could do something about this,” he says, gesturing at his own crotch. “Please,” he adds belatedly.

“Your manners need some work, but I suppose that’s an improvement. Since you asked nicely…”

Harry takes him through into the living room and directs him to stand in the middle of the room while he fetches the blindfold and something he keeps behind his back so Eggsy can’t see. “Do you mind this?” he asks, holding up the blindfold. “If you don’t want it, after the last time-”

“It’s fine, yeah,” Eggsy assures him.

“No injuries tonight?”

“Nope.”

“Good.” Harry holds up the item he’d been hiding.

“Fucking hell, Harry!”

They’re proper, legit police handcuffs, heavy and substantial, nothing like the soft rope Harry’s tied him with before. There’s no pretence that he could get out of them by himself.

“Not gonna ask where you got those. You got the key, right?” Eggsy asks dubiously.

Harry holds it up for Eggsy’s inspection. “I could get you out of them anyway, if necessary, but the key’s here. I’ll put it on the mantelpiece.” He steps closer to Eggsy, a hand on his arm, warm and reassuring. “If you’d rather I tied you…”

“No. It’s ok.” Eggsy holds out his hands.

Harry shakes his head. “Behind your back.”

Eggsy lets out a shuddering breath. He’s so hard it _hurts_ , and when the first cuff snaps closed around his wrist he feels like his knees are about to give way.

“All right, Eggsy?” Harry asks softly.

“Yeah,” Eggsy says faintly, and Harry snaps the other cuff closed, pining Eggsy’s hands behind his back, and while logically he isn’t any more helpless than he was when Harry tied him up it _feels_ like more and he drops easily to his knees when Harry presses gently between his shoulder blades, like it’s where he needed to be. “Shouldn’t I, like, take some clothes off?”

“No.” Harry ruffles his hair. “I don’t want you to make a mess of my floor.”

“But that means I-” Eggsy groans as he realises what Harry intends. “Fuck, I fucking hate you.”

Harry is smirking when he sits down in the armchair in front of Eggsy, like the utter bastard he is, but his fingers are gentle against Eggsy’s cheek. “I’m going to have to teach you some new swear words, Eggsy. Expand your vocabulary.”

“Gonna teach me how to swear in French, Harry?”

“Oh, at least,” Harry says, slipping the blindfold into place.

Eggsy’s been blindfolded before but this, too, feels more real, more intense, more of _everything_ , and he doesn’t know whether it’s the unyielding steel securing his wrists or the relief of being with Harry again or the anticipation of Harry touching him or a combination of all three, but the exhilaration of whatever it is leaves him breathless and fevered, desperate for more of anything Harry will give him.

“Harry,” he whines.

Harry’s hand slides down the side of his face, petting behind his ear. “What do you want, Eggsy?”

Eggsy thinks about Harry’s hand on the nape of his neck, Harry tugging him forward, off-balance, holding him by the hair while he fucks up into his mouth. “You.”

“Is that so,” Harry says neutrally. The hand moves to Eggsy’s mouth, Harry’s thumb pressing down on Eggsy’s lower lip, suppressing Eggsy’s startled moan as Harry’s foot nudges between his legs, rubbing up against his balls. Eggsy nearly comes just from that.

“Fuck!”

“Would you like to come, Eggsy?” Harry’s foot moves again, pressing firmly enough that it’s almost - but not quite - tipping over the line between pleasure and pain.

“Is-” Eggsy breaks off. “Is that what you want?”

“Oh, very good, Eggsy,” Harry says appreciatively. “Yes, it is. But you’re going to have to work for it.”

“Wha-” Harry does tug him forward then, but not in the way Eggsy might have wanted. Just enough that Eggsy is straddling Harry’s leg, just enough that he realises exactly what Harry wants him to do. “Oh, fuck you,” he gasps. Harry moves his leg, a slide of delicious friction against his clothed cock, and Eggsy groans. “F-fuck.”

He’s glad of the blindfold now; he’s not sure he could do this if he could see Harry watching him, if he had a sense for how ridiculous he probably looks, rubbing off against Harry’s leg. He can’t _not_ do it, even if the layers of fabric dull the sensation. It still feels good, better than the desperate slide of his own hand in the privacy of his bed, better than any fumbling encounter in the alleyway behind the pound shop.

“Harry- fuck, let me go. Let me have my hands free, Harry. I need- please.”

“You’re doing very well,” Harry says patiently. His hand slides from Eggsy’s shoulder to the side of his neck. “Keep going.”

“I- fuck-” Eggsy doesn’t care what he looks like now, he doesn’t care about anything, he just wants, and the friction Harry is giving him isn’t enough, he needs _more_ -

\- and Harry’s hand slides up a little further, fists a handful of Eggsy’s hair, and _tugs_ -

-and Eggsy comes with an anguished yell, harder than he’s ever come in his _life_ , a supernova of sensation that temporarily blots out everything that isn’t Harry’s arms around him and the sound of Harry’s voice in his ear, all that anchors him as he shatters and falls apart.

“Fucking hell,” he mumbles when he regains the power of speech. At some point Harry has pulled him up from the floor, practically into his lap. Harry’s fingers are combing gently through Eggsy’s hair, smoothing it down.

“Shall I remove the blindfold now?”

“A’right.” Eggsy presses his face against Harry’s neck, seeking out bare skin above the line of his collar.

“I’ll take the handcuffs off in a moment, unless they’re hurting?”

Eggsy shakes his head. His briefs are a sticky, cooling mess and he can’t seem to get quite enough oxygen into his lungs but nothing actually _hurts_. “Harry-” he begins.

Harry hushes him, tightening his hold on him, and Eggsy lets it happen, soaks up Harry’s touch and Harry’s soothing words like a man starved for either. Which, he supposes, he is.

“Wha’ about you?” Eggsy asks eventually, when Harry levers him to his feet so he can retrieve the key for the handcuffs.

“What about me?”

“Do you wan’ me to- you didn’t-” Eggsy sways a little. He feels unaccountably sleepy all of a sudden.

Harry kisses the side of his mouth. “No. Hold still.”

It feels strange without the weight of the handcuffs, like he’s floating up into the air, and Harry’s hand on his hip is the only thing holding him to the floor. “Don’t kick me out,” he mumbles. “Please.”

“I wasn’t going to.” Harry pulls him closer, pressing another kiss to his temple. “Come upstairs and I’ll run you a bath. I’m sure you want to get those clothes off.”

Eggsy pulls a face. “Yeah.” He yawns.

“You can stay the night, if you like. I’ll wash your clothes for you.”

“Tha’ sounds good.” Another yawn.

“Perhaps a shower would be better.” Harry sounds like he’s smiling. “I don’t want you to drown in the bath.”

“Either’s fine.” Eggsy tries for a nonchalant shrug but ends up nearly falling over and it’s only Harry’s reactions that stop him crashing to the floor.

“Upstairs,” Harry says decisively.

Eggsy is virtually asleep by the time Harry gets him to the top of the stairs. He’s vaguely aware of Harry undressing him and briefly regretful - in a dazed, unfocused way - that he’s in no condition to appreciate Harry getting him naked, but Harry helps him into the shower and leaves him to stand under the hot spray for a few minutes and Eggsy presses his hands against the tiles and feels the water cascade over his shoulders and the pleasant ache of his thigh muscles and never wants to move again.

Harry makes him move, though - drying him off with clinical thoroughness, before depositing him in a soft, comfortable bed. Eggsy can’t quite muster the energy to open his eyes but he feels the bed dip when Harry sits down and the warm press of his hand on his shoulder.

“Sleep, Eggsy,” Harry says softly, and Eggsy does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although this is an AU, it isn't *entirely* AU, so Eggsy is starting to pick up on things about Harry that aren't quite right. Fun times ahead!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the night before...

When Eggsy wakes up, he’s alone.

It takes him a minute or two to get his bearings, to remember that he’s in Harry’s home and not his own. To remember what happened the night before and the reason why he’s still at Harry’s house. He squints at his wrists - marked with the faintest of lines from the handcuffs - and groans, suddenly very glad he’s alone as his cock decides to take an interest in proceedings.

He’s in what is very obviously Harry’s spare bedroom, a small, neat room mostly taken up by the bed and a tall wardrobe on the opposite wall. He’s naked under the duvet but there are clothes laid out neatly for him on a chair by the door. Eggsy very briefly debates getting himself off but he needs to piss and it feels faintly obscene to think about doing it in Harry’s guest room, with every chance of Harry walking in on him. Not that Eggsy has much to be ashamed about any more, not after shamelessly humping Harry’s leg the previous night. He groans again, feeling his face heat with the remembered humiliation of it even as his cock hardens. And that, naturally, is the moment Harry chooses to open the door.

“Ah, you’re awake. Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes, if you’re hungry.” If Harry notices the state Eggsy’s in, he keeps it to himself.

“Yeah, thanks. I, um-” Eggsy hesitates. He feels strangely self-conscious under the weight of Harry’s gaze. 

“I’ll see you down there,” Harry says easily, and closes the door. Eggsy lets out the breath he was holding.

Five minutes later, dressed in oversized sweat pants and a polo shirt, Eggsy walks into the dining room to find Harry serving up bacon, sausages, fried egg, tomatoes, and mushrooms, and he slides into the chair he’s starting to think of as _his_ chair and fiddles with his knife and form until Harry sits down next to him.

“Did you sleep well?” Harry asks conversationally. “I didn’t like to wake you earlier.”

Eggsy stares at him, fascinated by the way Harry can just have this simple conversation like nothing has happened between them. “Um, yeah?”

“Good.” Harry starts cutting up his bacon with careful efficiency. “Dive in. Unless you’d prefer something else?”

Eggsy looks down at his plate. His stomach rumbles, right on cue. “No, this is good.”

“Well, leave anything you don’t want. How are your wrists? Not too sore from the handcuffs, I hope.”

“No,” Eggsy says, proud of how he keeps it together. “They’re fine.”

“Good, because I was thinking of using the cuffs again after breakfast.”

Eggsy nearly chokes on a mouthful of bacon. “ _Harry_ ,” he wheezes.

Harry forks another piece of his own bacon and gives Eggsy an entirely unapologetic smile. 

“I don’t know if you have any plans for today but I thought we might go out somewhere for lunch. A proper Sunday lunch.”

Eggsy shakes his head. “No plans. I should text my mum though, let her know I’m ok.”

“Of course,” Harry says. “Is there anywhere in particular you’d like to go?”

“Not really.” Eggsy thinks about taking Harry round the estate, maybe down the Black Prince. He can just imagine _Dean’s_ reaction to Harry. It suddenly occurs to him that Harry hadn’t been that far away when they’d bumped into each other the previous night. He eyes the other man thoughtfully. Harry is, to all intents and purposes, engrossed in his breakfast, but his peripheral vision proves to be keen as he says, without looking up:

“Whatever’s on your mind, now is the time.”

“Last night,” Eggsy says, and then stops, unsure of how to go on. He can’t exactly accuse Harry of spying on him - and anyway, he’s not sure how Harry _could_ have been spying on him. It just feels a little too coincidental that he happened to bump into Harry when and where he did.

“Yes?” Harry prompts.

“How did you know where I was last night?” Eggsy says bluntly.

Harry still doesn’t look up. “I didn’t.”

“So you just _happened_ to be wandering around there, did you? Doing what? Trying to get yourself mugged?”

“It may surprise you to learn that being a victim of street mugging is not one of my kinks,” Harry says, and there’s an edge to his voice that makes Eggsy shiver, that reminds him of the way Harry took out the Pavlides brothers. “Nor am I any kind of vigilante, if that was your next thought.”

It wasn’t, but now Eggsy has a stupid mental image of Harry stalking the streets wearing a cape and a tragic backstory. Harry could probably pull off a cape, he thinks.

“Anyway,” Harry says, setting down his knife and fork. “I have a few emails I must send. Perhaps you could load the dishwasher when you’re done?”

“Yeah, ok,” Eggsy says automatically, caught off-guard by the suddenness of it. It’s only when he’s stacking the plates in the dishwasher that he realises just how unlike Harry it is to simply up and leave in the middle of a meal. It’s the sort of thing Eggsy wouldn’t have even thought about before he met Harry but he’s starting to learn Harry’s ways and he’s pretty sure that it counts as _rude_ in Harry’s unwritten book of politeness. He’s still mulling it over when Harry returns and all thoughts promptly go skipping out of his head when he sees that Harry is holding the handcuffs.

“Hands on the counter, Eggsy,” Harry says coolly. 

Eggsy turns around and braces himself against the counter, palms flat against the top. He hears Harry approach, feels him press up against his back, encircling him in his arms.

“You know, I didn’t plan on using these again so soon,” Harry says conversationally as he snaps the cuffs onto Eggsy’s left wrist. “But you seem to react rather well to them.” He hesitates briefly, giving Eggsy a chance to protest before he secures Eggsy’s other wrist. “Don’t you?”

“They’re all right,” Eggsy says, and Harry snorts and cuffs his right wrist.

Eggsy stares down at his own wrists, locked together now by heavy, unyielding steel. 

“Thought you were gonna do… you know, what you did last night.”

Harry’s hands rest on Eggsy’s forearms, and he’s pressed in so close Eggsy can feel the hard bulge of Harry’s erection pressed against his body. Knowing that Harry is hard for him, that Harry _wants_ him, is giddying. Knowing that he’s essentially helpless, that Harry could easily drag down his sweatpants, bend him forward with a hand against his back, and fuck him right here over the counter, still more so.

“I made you do all the work last night,” Harry says, close enough to Eggsy’s ear that Eggsy can feel the whisper of Harry’s breath against his skin. “It’s only fair that I take my turn today.”

“Oh,” Eggsy says weakly as Harry’s right hand slides up his arm and then over to his hip. “That’s- yeah, that’s good.”

“Are you sure?” Harry’s hand moves again, cups him through the sweatpants. _Fuck_. 

“Unless you want me to…” Eggsy trails off, not knowing what he’s even suggesting. Anything. Everything. 

“I would prefer to do this,” Harry says, very softly, as his hand starts to move, and later maybe Eggsy will feel jealous of Harry’s easy confidence, of whoever else Harry has ever touched like this. “And I thought we might play a game.”

“A-a what?” Eggsy clutches at the countertop as the tortuous slide of Harry’s thumb threatens to send him to his knees. “A game?”

“Usually,” Harry says, sounding entirely composed, “I like to set you a challenge, don’t I? I thought today we’d do something different.”

“Ugnh,” Eggsy manages. “W-what?” He squints at Harry’s free hand, trying to see what Harry is showing him. It looks like-

“I thought we might make it a game of chance,” Harry continues. “A toss of a coin, nothing more. Heads, you get to come. Tails, you don’t. What do you say? You _can_ refuse, of course.”

Trust Harry to remind him of that; if anything it only makes it easier for Eggsy to nod his head. “Yeah,” he says breathlessly. “Yeah, ok.”

“Are you sure? If it’s tails, you don’t get to come.” Harry’s hand slows a little, and Eggsy can’t help rocking his hips forward, trying to get more friction. Harry tuts and takes his hand away. 

“Sorry,” Eggsy says. “Sorry- I just- please.”

“It’s all right.” Harry kisses him, just behind his ear. “Try not to move.”

“That’s fucking _difficult_ , Harry.”

“I have every faith in you,” Harry says dryly. His hand is back on Eggsy’s cock so Eggsy bites back another retort, not wanting to sound too petulant. “What do you say?”

Eggsy flexes his hands against the cuffs, feeling the weight of them and, more than that, the weight of what Harry’s offering him. His body wants release, the selfish release he knows Harry will give to him. And yet-

-and yet he wants to do this.

“All right,” he says, in a voice that doesn’t sound like his own. “Let’s do it.”

Harry, to his relief, doesn’t ask him if he’s sure again. Eggsy hears him toss the coin and then, nothing.

“Well?” Eggsy prompts, what Harry doesn’t say anything. “What was it?”

Harry kisses him again, the same spot as before. “Wait and see.” 

Eggsy groans in frustration; Harry chuckles. 

“This _is_ what you agreed to, Eggsy,” he murmurs, and something about the way he says it hits Eggsy hard, somewhere at the core of him.

“When are you-” 

“Going to stop? Or not?” Harry leaves him hanging for what seems like an eternity before he says, “Wait and see.” 

“ _Harry_!”

Harry is unperturbed. “Wait and see,” he repeats teasingly, moving his hand in a merciless twisting motion that nearly has Eggsy’s knees buckling. “It’s a surprise.”

“Like a shit Christmas present, you mean.” It’s said without heat, because while part of Eggsy - ok, the part of Eggsy that’s currently at the mercy of Harry’s tormenting fingers - desperately wants to come, there’s another part of him that wants the alternative, that wants Harry to deny him and leave him desperate and wanting. 

“Let’s see, shall we?” Harry says. His hand stills again and Eggsy whimpers. “Turn around for me now.” 

“W-what?” 

Harry dextrously spins him round until Eggsy is facing him, his back against the counter. Eggsy has to hold his cuffed wrists at chest level as Harry takes him in hand again.

“I want to see your face,” Harry explains, belatedly. 

_I’m not going to let you come_ , Eggsy mentally translates. Harry wants to see Eggsy’s frustration and disappointment when he realises and Eggsy is surprised to find that, now it’s come to it, he’s, mostly, ok with that. If it pleases Harry to deny Eggsy then Eggsy is happy to be denied. It won’t stop him bitching about it later but he suspects Harry will enjoy that too.

“How are your wrists?”

“F-fine.” The weight of the cuffs is nothing against the weight of Harry’s gaze on him. Eggsy feels like one of the specimens pinned and framed on Harry’s walls, laid bare for Harry’s inspection as his body begins to wind tight with tension. “Harry,” he says desperately. “Please, I-”

“Are you getting close?”

“Y-yes- oh fucking _hell_ , Harry!”

Harry smirks as Eggsy tries to thrust against the hand that’s no longer there. “Something _wrong_ , Eggsy?”

Eggsy gives him his best murderous look but he suspects it’s not entirely effective because Harry just reaches around him - careful to avoid giving Eggsy any inadvertent friction - and snags a can of Coke from the cupboard above Eggsy’s head. 

“Would you like a drink?”

“No, I fucking wouldn’t like a drink.”

Harry calmly cracks open the can and takes a sip, apparently oblivious to Eggsy’s frustration. Eggsy knows the game Harry is playing though and, ok, he can do this too. He takes a deep breath and tries to relax but the weight of the cuffs and the tiny amount of friction he gets as he shifts and the soft fabric of the sweatpants rubs against the head of his cock make that easier said than done.

“Stop that,” Harry says idly, when Eggsy shifts again.

“I’ll stop if you get on with it.”

Harry takes another sip. “Say please.”

“Please _fucking_ get on with it.”

This time Harry sets the can down on the counter. “That’s not very polite, Eggsy,” he says reprovingly. 

Eggsy opens his mouth to respond but his retort turns into a strangled moan as Harry starts stroking him again with the same ruthless efficiency as before. With terrifying, dizzying speed Eggsy’s back on the brink of orgasm, his body tensing in expectation of release as everything that isn’t Harry’s hand on him fades into irrelevance. Which is exactly the point at which Harry takes his hand away again.

“ _Fuck_!”

“Oh dear,” Harry says, entirely unrepentantly.

“You fucking- I-” Eggsy tries to bring his hands down, get a hand on himself, but the cuffs and the disorientation of being so close, _so fucking close_ , make him clumsy and Harry easily intercepts him, getting a hold on the bar between the cuffs and using it as a lever to raise Eggsy’s arms above his head.

“Keep them there,” he tells Eggsy, in a tone of voice that doesn’t invite argument.

“I fucking hate you,” Eggsy says, as Harry crosses the room, opens one of the drawers, and pulls out a length of rope. “Do you keep rope all over the house or what?”

“Yes,” Harry says blandly. “Keep your arms raised; that’s it.” He comes back to Eggsy and winds the rope around the bar a couple of times. Eggsy watches in silent bemusement as Harry leaves him again to retrieve a small step stool from the side of the fridge.

When Harry returns to him and climbs up on the step stool Eggsy is suddenly presented with an extremely distracting view. He wonders how Harry would react if Eggsy leaned forward and mouthed his cock through his trousers. His musings are interrupted when his arms are tugged upwards. He glances up, and his eyes widen.

“Harry,” he says slowly. “Is it me or is there a hook in the ceiling?” 

“There’s a hook in the ceiling.” Harry has tied the ends of the rope together and, as Eggsy watches, he slides the loop of rope onto the hook. “I used to have a spider plant in a pot hanging from it. In the eighties.”

Eggsy tugs experimentally on the rope. There’s no give in it at all. “What happened to the plant?” 

“I took it to work,” Harry says, after the smallest of hesitations. “It does much better there.” His fingers test the fit of the cuffs around Eggsy’s wrists. “Tell me if you feel any pain.” He starts to step down, pausing only briefly to comb his fingers through Eggsy’s hair. It’s an oddly intimate, soothing gesture, but Eggsy is so on edge that even that gentle touch has him shuddering. 

“Please, Harry,” he manages. “Just- please, either way, please.” He’s standing on the edge of a precipice, waiting to fall into the abyss, and all he needs is Harry’s hand on him again.

“Oh, Eggsy.” Harry slides the step stool away and moves in close. “Would you like to come now?” 

And Eggsy does and he _doesn’t_ and he thinks about the coin toss and how in the end it doesn’t matter what he _wants_ because he chose to hand over the decision right at the start of this, not even to Harry but to chance. 

“Please,” he whispers, willing Harry to understand. 

“Yes,” Harry says, very softly, as, with a jerk of his wrist, he sends Eggsy tumbling over the edge and Eggsy comes with a startled, choked-off yell, and his legs give way and for a split second he’s dangling from his wrists, before Harry gets an arm around his waist to steady him. 

Sometime later - and Eggsy has no concept of how long it actually _is_ \- Harry encourages him to lean back against the counter and climbs up again to unfasten the rope. It feels strange to have his arms back, stranger still when Harry unlocks the handcuffs.

“Drink this.” Harry holds the can against his lips. Eggsy obligingly opens his mouth and swallows down a few mouthfuls of Coke. “Come on, let’s get you sat down. Before you fall down.”

He’s shaking, Eggsy realises. Maybe the exertion, maybe something else. Harry keeps a hand in the small of his back as he walks him to the living room, like he’s afraid Eggsy might pass out and hit his head. 

“Starting to think you like me messing up my clothes, Harry,” Eggsy says drowsily as Harry guides him to the sofa.

“I think you’ll find those are _my_ clothes,” Harry says. He doesn’t sound annoyed. “And, I must admit, I do rather like watching you walking around like that.”

Eggsy pulls a face. “Doesn’t feel good,” he mutters. 

“And yet you haven’t taken them off. Or asked me if you can get changed.” Harry sits on the edge of the sofa, next to Eggsy, and Eggsy obligingly moves up to give him more room.

“All right, can I get changed?”

“Certainly not.” Harry somehow manages to sound almost outraged by the suggestion. He’s still hard, Eggsy notices. Eggsy badly wants to do something about that. “Let’s have a look at your wrists.”

Eggsy almost protests that he’s fine, that he doesn’t need looking after, but the truth is that it feels good to be the focus of Harry’s attentions, to be able to watch Harry as he carefully inspects each of Eggsy’s wrists in turn, to feel the soothing touch of Harry’s hands on his skin. The downwards pull of Harry’s mouth when he catches sight of the small abrasion on the inside of Eggsy’s right wrist is less good.

“It’s nothing,” he tells Harry quickly. “Seriously. It’ll be gone by tomorrow.”

Harry is still holding Eggsy’s wrist. Slowly, not for a moment taking his eyes off Eggsy, Harry raises Eggsy’s wrist and kisses the sensitive skin next to the abrasion. Eggsy’s breath catches in his throat; he’s starting to re-evaluate everything he knows about his recovery time.

“You should have a shower,” Harry says, releasing Eggsy’s wrist with evident reluctance. “I know an excellent pub for a Sunday lunch. How are you feeling now?”

“Fine,” Eggsy assures him. “Better.” 

Harry is still watching him with that same intense, unsettling gaze. “It wasn’t … too much?”

“What? No.” Eggsy thinks back to his own response to the thrill of handing over control to Harry, the threat of denial. Maybe he’s learnt something about himself today. “Thought I’d called it wrong though.”

“You did.”

Eggsy blinks. “What?”

“It was tails. Technically, you lost.” Harry gets to his feet.

“But, but you let me-”

“Yes, well.” Harry brushes off his sleeves, a distraction technique if ever Eggsy saw one. “In the end, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Perhaps another time.”

“What about this afternoon?” Eggsy says boldly. 

“Perhaps,” Harry says noncommittally. Eggsy doesn’t mind that; he has _hours_ to work on Harry and convince him that it’s something they need to try out.

In the event, though, he doesn’t get hours, because as he’s coming out of the shower he hears Harry talking on the phone and by the time he gets downstairs, dressed in his own clothes again, Harry is slamming cupboard doors in the kitchen and scowling at the coffee maker like it’s personally offended him.

“I have to go to work,” he says without preamble when Eggsy walks into the room.

“On a Sunday?”

“It’s an emergency.” Harry spares him a glance, and his expression softens a little. “I’m sorry, Eggsy.”

“It’s ok.” It isn’t; not really.

“I have no idea what time I’ll be back. Here.” Harry hands Eggsy two twenty pound notes. “Get a taxi. Have some lunch before you go, if you like, while I get ready. There’s a lasagne in the freezer that isn’t too dreadful.”

“I’m ok, thanks.” Eggsy pockets the note. Daisy’s birthday is coming up, and he thinks he might buy her a cake. Maybe some balloons. Better than anything Dean will buy her, if he even remembers it’s her birthday. “I, er- I’ll let you get ready, then.”

Harry kisses him goodbye, but his mind is very clearly elsewhere. 

“You’re not going to fuck off for weeks again, are you?” Eggsy asks. He hates how small his voice sounds.

“Not if I can help it.” Harry kisses him again, a promise of sorts. “Go on. If I can make it, we’ll go for dinner in the week. And, in the meantime, I shall think about how lovely you looked begging me to let you come. But not too much, or I shall never get anything else done.”

Eggsy blushes, and Harry kisses him for a third time, and he’s starting to think they could spend the entire afternoon standing in Harry’s hallway trying to say goodbye, except for the taxi outside, beeping impatiently. 

“Go, before my neighbours start to complain.”

Eggsy shakes his head, grinning. “One more kiss, Harry. Come on.”

Sighing, Harry gives him what he wants.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eggsy has a bad night, meets some new acquaintances, and learns a little bit more about Harry along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the last chapter was basically fluff and porn, this is ... not. Hurt/comfort, with the emphasis on the comfort, although the first part of the chapter deals with Dean being his canon-typical self. And Eggsy and Harry are both far too stubborn and proud for their own good.

In retrospect it was a bad idea to buy the cake, as Eggsy realises when he steps into the flat and Dean’s gaze instantly zeroes in on the colourful box Eggsy is holding. He’s been putting off coming home; he’d had a couple of pints down the Black Prince and dragged it out as long as he possibly could but now he realises that his prolonged absence has only given Dean time to work himself into a real temper.

“What the fuck is that?” Dean says, in the tone of voice that means he’s already drunk and pissed off.

“Cake for Dais,” Eggsy says shortly. He gets halfway to the kitchen before Dean gets up from the sofa.

“Where’d you get the money for it?”

“Been saving up. She’s my sister; it’s her birthday. It’s her birthday cake.”

Eggsy can see his mum standing in the bedroom doorway, Daisy in her arms. She doesn’t look hurt but there’s fear in her eyes.

“Saving up, eh?” Dean takes a step towards him, grinning at Eggsy’s involuntary step back. “Been selling your arse again? That where you were last night?”

“Dean,” his mum says pleadingly. “Not in front of Daisy.”

“Then take her into the other room, you stupid bitch,” Dean snaps. He doesn’t look away from Eggsy and Eggsy knows, just from the way that Dean’s holding himself and the way he’s looking at Eggsy, that he’s going to get it. Whatever his mum says or does, Eggsy is getting a beating tonight and the only question now is whether he can keep his mum out of it or not.

“Don’t talk to my mum like that!” he says deliberately. It’s a provocation he knows Dean won’t be able to resist. The man’s never been able to stand Eggsy challenging his authority in any way.

Dean’s eyes narrow. “You giving me orders now, you little shit?”

Eggsy risks a glance over Dean’s shoulder. His mum has disappeared into the bedroom with Daisy and the door is safely closed. He doesn’t have time to refocus on Dean before the other man lands his first punch, a solid jab to Eggsy’s face that sends him stumbling backwards into the wall. Before he can recover Dean punches him again, in the stomach this time, a sickeningly solid blow that puts him on the floor. His phone falls out of his pocket as he goes down and Eggsy distinctly hears the screen crack as it hits the floor.

“Fucking little rent boy,” Dean grunts. “Piece of shit…”

Eggsy curls into a ball, or tries to - Dean keeps kicking at him, taunting him, one minute aiming for Eggsy’s head, the next for his balls. The one time Eggsy doesn’t react to defend himself, Dean kicks him solidly right over his left kidney.

“Good thing you like getting fucked so much,” Dean goads. “That’s what you’re gonna be doing from now on. Earn your fucking keep around here.”

Dean’s been threatening to pimp him out for the last ten years so Eggsy isn’t surprised by the threat; what does unnerve him is the new note of delight in Dean’s voice and the satisfied smirk on the man’s face, like he has something a bit more solid behind the threat this time. Eggsy pushes himself to a sitting position, grabs his phone, and tries to scoot towards his bedroom.

“Fuck off; I ain’t doing that,” he says shakily. The cake is on the floor, upside down. Ruined. _Fuck_.

Dean grins nastily and lunges for him, getting hold of Eggsy by the throat and dragging him to his feet.

“Think you’re so tough, don’t you, Eggsy? You’re a piece of shit just like your dad.”

“Don’t talk about my da-” Eggsy never gets to finish his angry retort: Dean’s fist slams into his stomach again and Eggsy throws up all over Dean’s polo shirt.

Eggsy stares at Dean.

Dean stares at Eggsy.

Eggsy sees the exact moment when Dean’s brain catches up with what’s just happened.

“ _Fuck_!” Dean roars. “You fucking little _shit_!”

Eggsy is hurled across the room, slamming into the wall next to the door, hard enough to wind him. But it’s his best and possibly _only_ chance to get out and he takes it, grabbing for the door handle and yanking the door open before Dean can react. And then he runs, an awkward, stumbling, wheezing run, with no particular aim in mind except to urge to get _away_ , as far from Dean as possible. The estate is mostly deserted at this time of night but Eggsy runs past a few people, people who know him, people who know his mum, know Dean, and they all react the same way: they look at him and they look at the state he’s in and they look away, like Eggsy doesn’t exist. Like he’s a ghost. If he dropped to the ground, if he _died_ , they’d probably still keep looking the other way.

By the time he gets to the main road, Eggsy is close to collapsing and there’s something wrong with the vision in his right eye; he can’t seem to open the eye properly and nothing is in focus. He narrowly avoids being run over by a black cab as he stumbles off the kerb and in trying to catch his balance he falls to one knee. The cab pulls up and the cabbie gets out and Eggsy half-laughs, half-sobs at the ridiculousness of the situation. Smacked around by Dean and now about to get punched by a cabbie: surely his day can’t get any worse. The man’s built like a tank, not that he needs to be: Daisy could probably beat up Eggsy in the state he’s in.

The cabbie leans down. Eggsy braces himself for the blow he knows is coming.

“Need a ride?” the man asks instead.

Eggsy shakes his head as he somehow manages to get to his feet. “No money,” he manages. “‘m fine.”

“No, no.” Despite Eggsy’s protestations, a strong arm steadies him and guides him towards the cab. “In you get now. Got to be somewhere you want to go.”

There is, of course. There’s Harry’s. And there’s a chance Harry might be home by now from his _emergency,_ and Eggsy wants him so much and so painfully he could cry, and the want is powerful enough that he can’t bring himself to fight against it any longer. He gives the cabbie the address and spends the journey hoping that Harry is both at home and willing to pay for the cab. The cabbie doesn’t talk to him, doesn’t ask about his obvious injuries. Eggsy closes his eyes and lets the noise of the engine wash over him and tries not to think about what he’s going to do if Harry isn’t at home.

Harry, to Eggsy’s overwhelming relief, _is_ in, or at least the lights are on when the taxi pulls up outside his house.

“Here we are,” the cabbie says cheerfully.

“I, um, need to get money. Inside.”

“Ok. Need a hand getting out?”

“No, I’m fine.” He isn’t; Eggsy slides inelegantly out of the taxi onto the cobbles of the mews. Taking a deep breath, he staggers up to Harry’s front door and presses the doorbell.

The man who opens the door is not Harry.

Eggsy stares stupidly at him for a long moment, confused. He even thinks he might have got the wrong house before he squints past the man and sees Harry’s hallway.

“Going by the lack of three chicken madras, pilau rice, and an onion bhaji, I’m going to assume you’re not from the Tandoori Palace,” the stranger says mildly.

He’s handsome, Eggsy’s mind catalogues. Older than Eggsy, younger than Harry. Well-dressed, well-spoken, the same air of easy self-sufficiency that Harry wears so lightly. _Is this Harry_ _’s boyfriend_ , he thinks numbly. _Is this the real reason he didn_ _’t want me to come round tonight? Not because he didn’t know what time he was going to be back but because of this_? _Was he even at work?_

_Fuck._

The man looks at him more closely, and frowns. “Harry,” he says, more loudly. “This one’s for you, I think.”

Eggsy opens his mouth to say something - what, he has no idea - but his legs give way and he starts to fall, only for the man to catch him around the waist and haul him bodily into the house, and then none of it matters anyway because _Harry_ is there, wrapping Eggsy in his arms and pulling him in close, and Eggsy clings to him, buries his bruised face in Harry’s shoulder, and just breathes in the scent of him. It feels like they’ve been apart for _days_ , not less than twelve hours.

“Deal with the cab, will you, James,” he hears Harry say. Then, to Eggsy, “Let’s get you sat down, shall we?”

“‘m sorry,” Eggsy mumbles.

“What for?”

“Shouldn’t have come here…”

“Is he all right?” Harry has _two_ visitors, apparently.

“No,” Harry says shortly. He leads Eggsy into the dining room and sits him down at the table before tilting his head back so Harry can get a better look at his face.

“Shit.”

“I’ll get some ice,” the second man says.

“Not as bad as it looks,” Eggsy offers. Harry’s face isn’t exactly in focus but Eggsy hates what he can make out of his expression. He looks _stricken_. Eggsy doesn’t like that expression at all.

Harry’s fingers press lightly on Eggsy’s cheekbone and around the eye socket. Eggsy winces.

“Sorry,” Harry says apologetically. “I don’t think anything is broken. Your stepfather, I assume?”

Eggsy nods. He doesn’t see any point in lying to Harry about this: Harry already knows about Dean.

“What else?”

“Stomach. And my back.”

“Here, Harry.” The other man moves unobtrusively into Eggsy’s vision, proffering an ice pack wrapped in one of Harry’s tea towels. He looks a bit like Harry too, Eggsy thinks. Maybe they’re all related.

“Hold this to your cheek,” Harry instructs, pressing the ice pack into Eggsy’s hand. “Are there- ah, yes. Here, take these too, Eggsy.”

Eggsy blinks at the two small white tablets Harry puts in his free hand. “What are-”

“Painkillers. Take them. Do you need some water?”

Eggsy nods tiredly. He still has the taste of vomit in his mouth, a bitter, rancid taste. Harry gets him a glass of blessedly cool water and Eggsy swallows the tablets down as the first man reappears.

“That’s going to be an impressive shiner tomorrow,” he remarks, peering at Eggsy’s cheek. “You must be Eggsy. I’m James.”

“Hi,” Eggsy says faintly as the doorbell sounds.

“That’ll be the curry,” the second man says. “Go and get it, James.”

Harry is still standing in front of Eggsy, his hand on Eggsy’s shoulder. His hand is shaking, Eggsy realises. Harry’s hand is _shaking_. Eggsy wants to offer comfort, say something - anything - that will make it right, but he doesn’t know _what_. He’s never seen Harry like this.

“Harry,” the second man murmurs. “Why don’t you get Eggsy some clean clothes and I’ll set the table?”

“Yes, all right,” Harry says slowly, reluctantly. “Come with me, Eggsy. Keep the ice pressed against your face.”

Harry takes Eggsy upstairs and sits him on the edge of the bath so he can get a better look at him under the brighter light of the bathroom. Eggsy closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see Harry’s face but he hears Harry’s indrawn breath when the other man pulls Eggsy’s t shirt up and over his head and sees the rest of the damage.

“Should I ask what prompted this?” Harry asks tightly, tracing a finger across Eggsy’s belly, where Dean punched him.

“Bought a cake for Daisy. My sister.”

“Yes, I know who Daisy is, Eggsy. There’s a boot mark on your back.”

“Yeah, he kicked me when I was on the floor.”

Harry doesn’t say anything to that. He goes to the medicine cabinet instead, and returns with a tube of something Eggsy can’t make out. Whatever it is, it feels cold on Eggsy’s skin when Harry applies it over the bruising.

“Do you feel sick at all?” Harry asks. “Headache?”

“No. Hungry.”

“You can have something to eat in a moment.”

Five minutes later, Eggsy is cleaned up and dressed in another pair of Harry’s sweat pants that are too long for him and a soft, baggy t shirt, and Harry takes him back downstairs to the dining room, where the table has been set and three takeaway curries have been served up on Harry’s second-best crockery. James is sitting at the table, opposite Eggsy’s usual seat. There’s no sign of the second man.

“Sit down, Eggsy,” Harry says quietly. “You might as well make a start, before the food gets cold.”

“Aren’t you eating?”

“In a moment.”

James smiles at Eggsy as Harry leaves the room, a disarmingly rakish smile. “Feeling better?”

“Yeah,” Eggsy lies. He hears Harry go upstairs. “Is-” He waves a hand vaguely but James seems to understand what he means.

“Alistair had to step out for a while. Nasty habit of his. Those painkillers should be kicking in soon.”

“Yeah.” Eggsy can feel the surge of chemicals in his bloodstream, a rush of warmth spreading outward from his chest. “They are.”

“You should eat something. The tablets might knock you out a bit.”

 _A bit_ proves to be an understatement: Eggsy manages all of five mouthfuls of curry before everything goes hazy and soft around the edges, and then there’s just _nothing_. He wakes up some undefined time later lying on Harry’s sofa with a blanket over him and Harry sitting in the armchair, watching him with a curiously blank expression. Eggsy blinks at the other man, conscious that his bruises doesn’t hurt - that _nothing_ hurts - and says:

“What time is it?”

“Late,” Harry says. “How are you feeling?”

“Ok,” Eggsy says, and promptly tumbles back into unconsciousness.

The second time he wakes up James is in the armchair instead of Harry, asleep, and Eggsy is incredibly thirsty and needs a piss. He’s not in pain, so he pushes the blanket back and stands up, surprised to find that _still_ nothing hurts. His vision isn’t quite as blurred either.

“Best painkillers ever, Harry,” he mumbles as he staggers to the door. He can hear the quiet murmur of voices from the dining room, before the sound of his own name, clear and distinct, brings him up short.

Harry is in the dining room with the second man, with Alistair. They haven’t noticed him hovering in the hallway. Eggsy stands still and holds his breath, straining to hear what’s being said. He wishes he could see more than the back of their heads.

“-has to come to it himself,” Harry is saying. The two men are sitting very close together, not quite touching.

The other man - Alistair - shakes his head. Eggsy hears the soft clink of a glass. “What are you going to tell Eggsy?”

“Nothing. There’s no need.” Harry’s tone is curt.

“He’s not stupid, Harry. If this is-”

“I won’t endanger him,” Harry says shortly. “You know the rules as well as I do.”

“For a casual relationship, yes-”

Eggsy doesn’t hear anything else, because James chooses that moment to wake up with a half-snort, half-snore, and Eggsy quickly steps back into the room so it won’t be so obvious he’s been spying on Harry. James opens his eyes, looking first to the empty sofa and then to where Eggsy stands in the doorway.

“Eggsy,” he drawls. “Feeling any better?”

“I was just going for a piss,” Eggsy says, hoping he doesn’t look as guilty as he inexplicably feels.

“Not too dizzy? Sick? Any pain?”

“No, I’m fine.”

James waves him towards the door. “Go on, then.”

Eggsy goes. It feels like his thoughts are running through treacle and he can’t think clearly, can’t even be sure he heard what he thinks he heard. He squints at his own reflection while he’s washing his hands and immediately wishes he hadn’t, because he looks - charitably - like shit: pale and washed-out, which only makes the livid, purpling bruising stand out even more. He risks a glance at his stomach and the bruising there makes him wince. Harry isn’t going to want to come anywhere near him in this state.

Although, maybe Harry wouldn’t want to come near him tonight either way, not if he was set on enjoying an evening with his _partner_. Eggsy feels a bit sick at the thought, mixed in with embarrassment. He’d assumed, hadn’t he, that he was the only one for Harry, and he feels like an idiot for that assumption now. A man like Harry is obviously going to want a partner like himself, someone he can introduce to his friends. Someone who doesn't turn up on his doorstep looking like he's been in a brawl. Not someone like Eggsy.

_I know nothing about him._

_He probably feels sorry for me._

Eggsy glares at his reflection. He can put up with a lot, but Harry's pity is a bridge too far. He can manage. It's probably time he went home, anyway.

James intercepts him in the hallway, when Eggsy would have gone into the dining room, and takes him into the living room instead. Eggsy briefly thinks about protesting, but James has been nice and not patronising, the sofa is comfortable, and there’s a glass of orange juice on the table next to him. He’s not sure he’s up to facing Harry anyway.

“Sorry if I interrupted … y’know, your night,” he says awkwardly as he sinks down onto the sofa.

“You don’t need to apologise.” James looks amused. “We had nothing planned except a game of cards, which would have put Harry in a very bad mood.”

“Why?”

James’ smile widens. “Because he always loses.”

“Oh.” Eggsy is almost taken aback that there’s something Harry isn’t good at.

James sees his reaction. “It’s not because he’s a bad player – he’s not – but rather that- well, let me show you.”

He sits down and produces a pack of playing cards from his pocket. Passing them over to Eggsy first, so Eggsy can see it’s just a normal deck, he shuffles them, so rapidly and elegantly the individual cards seem to flow and blur together. And then, with a flourish, he deals out four cards on the floor between them.

Four aces.

“As you can probably imagine,” James says with a wry smile, “a player who can deal his opponents any hand he likes is not always a popular guest at parties.”

“Yeah, I get that.” Eggsy’s impressed: he’s seen card tricks before but James’ dexterity is something else. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

“Eton.”

“Showing Eggsy your party trick?” Harry says suddenly, loudly, and Eggsy looks up to see him standing in the doorway. His expression is unreadable.

James retrieves the four aces. “Don’t be sour about it, Harry.” Unseen by Harry, he winks at Eggsy.

“Take your boyfriend home, Alistair,” Harry says steadily.

Eggsy blinks. _Boyfriend?_

_Oh._

He feels like an idiot now. Alistair, behind Harry, is eyeing Eggsy like he knows exactly what Eggsy is thinking.

“I suppose it _is_ rather late,” James says easily, getting to his feet. “Goodnight, Eggsy. Perhaps next time I’ll show you some card tricks.”

Harry rolls his eyes in an exaggerated fashion. “Get out of my house, you reprobate.”

“I learnt from the best. Night, Harry.”

“Goodnight, Harry,” Alistair murmurs, then, “goodnight, Eggsy.” His hand settles, very briefly, on Harry’s arm.

They let themselves out. The house seems very silent and very still once the front door is closed behind them. Eggsy makes a careful study of the fireplace, only to remember Harry putting the key for the handcuffs on the mantelpiece. He flushes at the memory, and what it had led to.

Harry clears his throat. “I’ll lock up. We should get to bed. It’s four am and it’s been a long day.”

“Right,” Eggsy says awkwardly, trying desperately not to think about handcuffs. “Spare room again, yeah?”

“No,” Harry says after a brief pause. “Go and clean your teeth. Your toothbrush is in the cabinet.”

“Ok.” It’s only the spare one Harry had given him the night before but it feels like something more than he has something that’s _his_ in this house, however small.

Eggsy goes upstairs. When he comes out of the bathroom, Harry is waiting for him, holding out a pair of soft blue pyjamas. He gestures towards his bedroom door. “Get into bed. I’ll be there in a moment.”

Harry looks tired so Eggsy bites back the smart remark that hovers on his lips and obediently goes into Harry’s bedroom. He’s in no fit state to have a good look around: the bedside light is on and the bed looks large and warm and inviting, and Eggsy hurries to get undressed, piling his discarded clothes in the corner by the door before pulling on the pyjamas Harry gave him. They’re clearly Harry’s own; he has to roll the legs up and the sleeves cover his hands. That done, he hovers next to the bed until Harry returns from his own bathroom visit dressed in a matching pair of pyjamas. Knowing Harry, Eggsy thinks, he probably has an entire drawer full of matching pyjamas. The other man gives Eggsy a small, tired smile as he takes his glasses off and sets them down carefully on the bedside table.

“Do you need some more painkillers?” he asks.

“No, I’m good. Can’t feel anything.”

Harry nods. “Come on then.” He gets into bed in an oddly stilted version of his usual gracefulness and waits for Eggsy to follow suit before he clicks off the bedside light. The bed is so ridiculously comfortable Eggsy doesn’t ever want to get out of it.

Eggsy isn’t quite sure what to expect - he thinks Harry might simply turn over and go to sleep - but the moment the room goes dark Harry’s arm slides around his waist and he’s drawn in close to Harry’s body and it’s so _good_ Eggsy can’t do anything but press in closer, his hands clutching reflexively at the fabric of Harry’s pyjamas.

“All right?” Harry asks, his voice little more than a whisper against Eggsy’s ear.

Eggsy nods, knowing that Harry can feel the movement, and feels the lingering tension in Harry’s body slacken in response. “Sorry,” he adds, almost as an afterthought.

Harry’s body tenses again. “For what?”

“Coming here. Spoiling your night. When-” _When it_ _’s not like you can do anything with me_ , he doesn’t say.

“You didn’t spoil anything.” Harry’s hold on him tightens a little. “James, Alistair, and I work together. Nothing more. It was a somewhat testing afternoon, and I thought a poker night might help to blow off some steam.”

“You could have rung me.” It stings a little that Harry didn’t.

“It was late and I- I didn’t want to be careless of you again.” Harry hurries on before Eggsy can process the meaning of that statement. “Now go to sleep, and wake me up if you need more painkillers.”

“Ok,” Eggsy says, intending to do no such thing. The lingering soporific effects of the tablets he’s already taken and the warmth of Harry’s arms around him are tugging him down into unconsciousness and he falls quickly, easily, into deep, undreaming sleep.

***

Eggsy wakes with sunlight peeking around the curtains and Harry snoring softly next to him. At some point they’ve moved so that Eggsy is curled on his side with Harry pressed against his back, Harry’s arm slung around his waist. Eggsy would be happy to lie like that all day but his bladder has other ideas and he reluctantly eases out from under Harry’s hold on him and out of bed. Harry immediately rolls into the space he’s vacated, frowning a little in his sleep. Harry looks softer in sleep, unguarded. Eggsy catches himself smiling fondly and heads for the bathroom before he can embarrass himself further.

His face still doesn’t look great when he looks at himself in the mirror, but the bruising and swelling aren’t quite as bad as he’d expected and his vision seems mostly back to normal. His stomach and back hurt now the painkillers have worn off and Eggsy wonders idly if he can find the bottle and have some more. He pads downstairs and grimaces when he sees that it’s nearly ten am.

Flipping the kettle on, Eggsy notices his phone, plugged in to charge. He picks it up, frowning when he sees missed calls and texts from his mum. Usually she leaves him be after Dean’s smacked him around, and he can’t remember giving her any reason to think he might not be at Jamal’s like he usually is when it’s better not to be at home for a few hours. He rings her, absentmindedly getting a couple of mugs out of the cupboard while he waits for her to pick up. At least his phone still works.

“Eggsy, where are you, where have you been, I’ve been ringing you and ringing you-”

“I’m fine, mum,” he interrupts. “What’s up? Are you ok? What’s wrong?”

“It’s Dean, he’s in hospital.”

Eggsy sags in relief that it’s not his mum or Daisy. “What’s up with him?”

“He got run over on Finchley Road; hit by a taxi, they said.”

Eggsy stifles a laugh. “Was he pissed?”

“Eggsy! It’s serious! He’s got a broken leg and a broken arm and three of his fingers are all smashed up; he’s lucky he’s not dead!”

 _Yeah, lucky_ , Eggsy thinks bitterly. _We_ _’re all so lucky._ The kettle clicks off and Eggsy gets a couple of tea bags out of the caddy and drops them into the waiting mugs.

“I know you two haven’t always got on,” his mum continues. “But he looks after us, Eggsy. He looks after all of us.” It’s almost a plea. “Come home. You can have Daisy while I go to the hospital.”

Eggsy closes his eyes. “Mum-” he begins.

He never finishes the sentence. His phone is plucked out of his hand and, as Eggsy turns to protest, Harry ends the call.

“That was my mum!” Eggsy protests. It unnerves him how quietly Harry can move when he wants to; Eggsy didn’t hear him come downstairs.

“Yes,” Harry says, setting Eggsy’s phone back on the counter. He’s wearing a dressing gown over his pyjamas and yet still somehow manages to make it look as good as one of his bespoke suits. Eggsy would kill to know how he does it. “Is that tea?”

“Um, yeah.” Eggsy pours water into the mugs and belatedly remembers he’s supposed to still be angry with Harry. “I need to go. She wants me to go home and look after Daisy.” He realises how ungrateful it sounds after he’s already said it. “I mean, not to run out on you or nothing.”

“I’m sure your sister wouldn’t appreciate you coming home looking like that.” Harry touches his bruised cheek.

“She’s seen it before,” Eggsy says without thinking.

“Yes,” Harry says, after a moment. “That’s rather my concern.”

Eggsy can’t think of anything to say to that.

“Get the milk,” Harry says, more gently. “I’ll make breakfast. You can’t do anything on an empty stomach. I doubt your stepfather is in any imminent danger.”

Eggsy leans against the counter to drink his tea while Harry makes them toast, and it’s only after breakfast, when he’s putting his mug in the dishwasher that the thought that’s been nagging at him finally coalesces into something like coherence.

“Harry,” he says carefully. “How did you know there’s something up with my stepdad?”

Harry doesn’t look round from where he’s putting the jam away. “I overheard you talking to your mother.”

“Oh,” Eggsy says. It’s- ok, it’s plausible. Replaying the conversation in his head, he can see how Harry might have inferred the correct conclusion.

“Do you need some more painkillers?” Harry asks, apropos of nothing.

“Yeah. Please.” Eggsy thinks about it; reconsiders. “Maybe not those ones that knock me out, yeah? They’re well strong.”

Harry finally turns around, and instead of the irritation Eggsy expected to see there’s only sadness in his eyes as he says:

“I really think you should rest, Eggsy. You’re welcome to stay here. You’re hurt.”

“Yeah,” Eggsy agrees. The words _I_ _’ve had worse_ hover in the air between them, unspoken. He doesn’t need to say it; they both know it. And he understands that Harry is being kind, that Harry is giving him the opportunity to stay here and be looked after, but equally he needs Harry to understand why he has to do it this way instead, why he has to go back.

And Harry, to his endless relief, _does_ get it, because he nods and fetches Eggsy an unopened packet of paracetamol - so Eggsy can be sure of what, exactly, he’s taking - and a glass of water, and then he leaves Eggsy alone to have a shower and get dressed and by the time Eggsy comes downstairs again there’s a taxi waiting and Harry is standing by the front door with Eggsy’s phone in his hand.

It’s suddenly awkward between them, painfully so.

“Thank you,” Eggsy says. It sounds stilted, not like the way he and Harry usually speak. Harry is close enough to touch and Eggsy impulsively reaches for him, tugging on the lapel of Harry’s dressing gown. “My knight in shining armour.” He grins up at Harry, trying to convey without words how much he wants to put this behind them and go back to how things were before.

Harry’s expression goes through some odd contortion Eggsy can’t quite place. “Hardly, Eggsy,” he demurs. He doesn’t try to move away though.

“I’ll ring you, yeah? When things have settled down. You probably don’t want to take me out in public with this.” Eggsy gestures at his own bruised face.

Harry’s expression softens. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll see you on Thursday, unless you have other plans.”

Thursday. Three days. Eggsy can work with that. “No. No plans. Bet you’ve got some for me though.”

“Oh, you have no idea.” Harry finally pulls away. “Go on, the taxi’s waiting. Ring me tomorrow.”

Eggsy kisses him, a quick press of lips against Harry’s stubbled cheek. He grins to himself as Harry’s body jerks. 

“See you on Thursday, Harry.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Eggsy have a dinner date. It leads to other things.

Harry is, for once, almost on time. He walks into the restaurant only five minutes after they were supposed to meet looking considerably better than he had when Eggsy last saw him and dressed in a suit Eggsy doesn’t recognise, a dark blue one that somehow makes him look even taller and more imposing than usual. Eggsy stifles a grin as the waiters practically fall over each other to attend to him. It’s some kind of secret power Harry has, an aura that surrounds him, something indefinable that draws the attention of everyone in the room - male and female alike - as he walks to their table.

For Eggsy, there’s something giddying about knowing that Harry is here for _him_.

“Get lost, did you?” Eggsy says insolently as Harry slides into the seat opposite him.

“I see you’re feeling better.” Harry summons a waiter with a discreet wave of his hand. “What would you like to drink? It doesn’t look like there’s a huge selection here, I’m afraid.”

Eggsy’s spent twenty minutes studying the drinks menu while trying to ignore the speculative and vaguely hostile stares of other customers so he’s already made his decision. “I’ll have a Peroni.”

Harry addresses the waiter. “A bottle of Peroni and a Leffe, please.”

“Yes, sir.” Eggsy hadn’t received a ‘sir’. “The menus, sir.”

“Thank you.” Harry opens his menu but ignores it in favour of looking at Eggsy. “How’s the eye?”

“Fine.” Which is more or less true; the swelling’s mostly gone down and the bruising, though still visible, isn’t as bad as it was. “Why were you late?”

That earns him a raised eyebrow and one of Harry’s more severe stares but Eggsy is getting the hang of dealing with Harry and he stares back just as sternly until, finally, Harry relents.

“If you must know, I went to visit my mother.”

“Oh,” Eggsy says, taken aback. He’d assumed - wrongly, it now seems - that both of Harry’s parents were dead. “Is she- is she all right?”

“Perfectly well. Formidable as ever.” It’s Harry’s way of shutting down that particular line of questioning. “You look tired. Are you not sleeping well?”

“Yeah, well, the Old Bill came knocking at six, didn’t they?” Eggsy says defensively. He hadn’t been to bed until two; Daisy had been screaming inconsolably and he’d ended up pushing her buggy around the estate for an hour and a half until she’d finally passed out from sheer exhaustion.

Harry flicks through the menu. “Were the police looking for anything in particular?” he asks idly.

“Fuck knows.” The police had seized a load of Dean’s gear - which Eggsy thinks he’s going to be _livid_ about when he gets out of hospital - but they hadn’t touched anything of Eggsy’s. In fact, they hadn’t even searched his room, which is weird, now that Eggsy thinks about it: when the police have been round in the past they’ve tended to take the whole flat apart. They’d been weirdly polite to his mum too.

If Harry is concerned by news of a dawn raid on Eggsy’s home, he doesn’t show it. ”I think I'll have the steak,” he remarks casually, setting his menu down. “What are you having? The steak is very good, I’m told. I haven’t tried it myself. It must be a couple of years or so since I was last here.”

Eggsy hurriedly picks up his own menu. The restaurant is nicer than anywhere Eggsy would have picked for himself but not so poncy that he can't read the menu. Everything sounds really good. "I'll, um, have a steak then."

“Excellent choice.”

The waiter returns with their drinks and takes the order from Harry while somehow managing to blank Eggsy's existence almost entirely. Eggsy spots the warning signs well before the waiter has the slightest inkling that there’s something wrong: it’s right there in the tightening of Harry's lips and a sudden hardness in his eyes, the tension in his long limbs; things that would go unnoticed by most people but not by someone who knows Harry as well as Eggsy does.

"Perhaps, Harry says finally, dangerously, "you might also ask my companion here how he'd like his steak."

The waiter visibly pales, to Eggsy’s intense satisfaction. “Y-yes, sir,” he stammers. He half-turns in Eggsy’s direction, still not actually looking at him. “Um, how would you like your steak?”

“Sir,” Harry interjects, in that same soft, intent tone of voice.

“Sir,” the waiter says, sounding slightly strangled. “How would you like your steak, sir?”

Eggsy is on shaky ground here; his knowledge of steak extends to the steak & ale pies they do at the chip shop on Brunswick Street and no further. He gives Harry a despairing look and Harry promptly obliges.

“Rare means it’s cooked so lightly it moos, and well done tends towards the incinerated. I would suggest medium rare, and you can try a little and see if you like it like that.”

From anyone else it would sound patronising - like Eggsy is an idiot who needs to be educated - but Harry somehow manages to say it in a way that suggests that Eggsy is almost doing him a favour by asking for his opinion. “Yeah, sounds good,” Eggsy mumbles. “Medium rare.”

“Yes, sir,” the waiter says faintly. He scurries away. Eggsy feels a little bit bad for him: being caught in the cross-hairs of Harry’s withering stare is not a pleasant experience.

“Don’t waste your sympathy on him,” Harry says mildly, like he knows exactly what Eggsy is thinking. “He was rude to you. You’re a customer in this restaurant.”

“Not like I’m paying though, is it?”

Harry’s gaze, which has been directed at the small vase of flowers on the table between them, snaps back to Eggsy abruptly. His eyes narrow.

Eggsy knows that look. “You know what I mean.”

“Eggsy,” Harry says levelly. “Have I ever given you the impression that I consider you to be my inferior?”

“Well, I-” Eggsy begins, but Harry doesn’t give him a chance to cut in.

“Or do you feel that you are in some way not deserving of being treated with respect?”

That’s a little too close to the bone for Eggsy. “What the fuck does that mean, Harry?” he says defensively.

“It means,” Harry says with studied patience, “that you are every bit as deserving of respect as I am. Whether you’re paying for this meal or not, you’re still a customer and you should be treated as such.”

Eggsy stares at the tabletop. He’s not sure what to say. They’re not equal, obviously; Harry’s plain wrong about that. He’s sitting there in his suit that probably cost more money than Eggsy’s ever had in his life and Eggsy doesn’t know how to explain it in a way Harry will accept. And Harry just sits there, silent and unmoving, and not giving Eggsy an easy out. The longer the silence between them goes on, the more awkward it gets.

"It's like, this," Eggsy blurts out eventually, when he can't stand it any longer. He gestures between the two of them. "Us." He wants to bite back the word immediately; there's no _us_. Harry likes him, obviously, and cares about his wellbeing - he’s more than demonstrated that already - but it’s not like Eggsy can lay claim to any kind of proper, serious _relationship_. ”You tell me what to do, I do it. You're in charge."

Harry just looks at him, his expression unreadable. "Is that how you see it?"

"That's how it _is_ ," Eggsy says, frustrated. "It's not, it's not bad, yeah? I don't mind. Fuck, I like it, you know I do. Bit late for me to pretend I don't." And now he's thinking about the handcuffs again, and Harry's voice, soft and low in his ear. "So, yeah."

Harry sighs. He looks tired, suddenly. "When you and I are together," he says, his voice even more careful and precise than usual, "which of us has the upper hand?"

"You," Eggsy says promptly. "Obviously."

"Why?"

Eggsy eyes the other man suspiciously. He starting to suspect that Harry is setting him up for something, or that this is some kind of joke on Harry's part. "I don't know what the fuck you want me to say, Harry,” he says slowly. “You're in charge because you are; that's how it works. And I know you said I could ask for stuff but you get the final say in whether we do it or not, yeah?"

"And if you told me to stop at any time, would I then be within my rights to ignore your wishes and carry on?"

_Oh_. Eggsy gets the point Harry has been trying to make. "No."

Harry takes a sip of his beer. "I may be in charge, Eggsy, but only because you give me the power to be so. Submitting to me does not mean loss of respect, nor does it make you weak.”

Eggsy takes a swig of his own beer, for distraction if nothing else. “You like being in charge,” he points out.

“Obviously. That doesn’t translate to me needing to treat you badly. Not against your wishes, anyway.” The last is said with just a hint of a smirk.

“Is that like a posh boy thing? Like, public school?”

“I’m sorry if this disappoints you, Eggsy, but the only thing public school gave me was a firm dislike of Latin conjugation.”

“Sounds kinky.”

That earns him a distinctly unimpressed look from Harry. Eggsy grins unrepentantly and takes another sip of beer.

“So when did you decide you like tying people up?” he asks.

Harry, to Eggsy’s intense disappointment, isn’t taken aback by the question. He leans back in his chair and gives it some thought. “I suppose I must have been twenty, or twenty-one.” He leaves it just long enough for Eggsy to be on the brink of asking him the follow-up question before he adds, “It was shortly after I discovered first-hand that I wasn’t particularly cut out for submission.”

Eggsy thinks parts of his brain might just have short-circuited. “You…” he says, trailing off uncertainly.

Harry, the bastard, just blinks at him innocently. “Yes, Eggsy?”

“You’re just gonna leave it there, are you?”

Harry’s response is interrupted by the arrival of their food - at the hands of a different waiter - and several minutes pass during which Eggsy discovers two things: firstly that he likes his steak medium rare, like Harry, and secondly that Harry devours steak with a sort of single-minded efficiency that leads Eggsy onto distracting and completely inappropriate thoughts about other things Harry devotes that kind of focus to.

Only belatedly does he remember what they were talking about before the food arrived. Choosing his moment, he asks:

“You like being tied up then?”

“Not really.” It’s annoyingly difficult to get Harry off-balance. “Being told not to move, and complying by willpower alone; that I can do. But I don’t enjoy being restrained.” _Not like you_ goes unsaid as he glances as Eggsy. “Is that something you’d like to try though?”

“I- that’s- I-“ Eggsy struggles to pull a coherent sentence together. The thought of tying Harry up, of pulling rope tight around those strong wrists, is at once alluring and disconcerting. “You wouldn’t like that, would you?”

“Probably not.” Harry spears the last strip of meat on his plate with his fork. “But I’m open to the idea, if you’d like to try it.”

And the thing is, it’s a genuine offer on Harry’s part. Eggsy doesn’t need to push to know that Harry means what he says. He’s just not sure what to make of it.

“You want me to…” he trails off, not sure how to phrase it. Every time he tries to picture how it could work between them, how he’d even start tying Harry up, his brain temporarily blanks.

“If you’d like to try it.” Harry might as well be talking about the weather. “You might find you like it.” His voice softens as he adds:

“These things aren’t set in stone, Eggsy. There are no rules, except those we make for ourselves.”

“I dunno,” Eggsy says cheekily. “You’re pretty good at making rules.” He grins when he sees Harry’s lips twitch, the other man fighting to hide his smile.

“Should I give you more orders, Eggsy?”

“If you want.”

Harry gives him nothing but a faint smile before turning his attention back to his dinner, but when they leave Harry keeps a proprietary hand in the small of his back as they run the judgemental gauntlet of their fellow diners and he ushers Eggsy into the waiting taxi with a firm squeeze to his arm that has Eggsy’s heart pounding in anticipation of whatever Harry has planned. He tries to adjust himself discreetly as he settles into his seat but Harry notices, of course. He doesn’t say anything but his hand settles on Eggsy’s thigh, a tantalising, possessive weight.

Eggsy looks out of the window as the taxi pulls away, soothed by the warmth of Harry’s body against his and the promise of more. There’s something mesmerising about travelling through the city at night, the interior of the cab bathed red and green and gold by the traffic lights and shop-fronts. From time to time, when the cab’s stopped at the lights, a pedestrian or a moped rider will glance into the cab, and Eggsy wonders what they see, what they assume, when they look at himself and Harry.

He’s never asked, he realises, what Harry thinks about that. Eggsy doesn’t think that Harry’s the type to care what other people think of him but maybe he does, if only a little.

"Sorry for before,” he tells Harry haltingly. “When I, you know.”

"There's nothing to apologise for, Eggsy."

"Nah, there is. I didn't get it, what you meant.” Eggsy gives the driver a quick glance but the man isn’t showing any indication of listening in to their conversation. Which doesn’t mean he isn’t, but at least he’s giving them the illusion of privacy. “Don’t want you to think I wasn’t listening, before.”

"I don't expect you to read my mind; I should have made it more clear. It was my fault." It’s so very _Harry_ to take the burden of it on himself, to set Eggsy at ease. “I take it you enjoyed dinner?”

“It was good, yeah. Steak’s all right.”

“I’ll have to remember you like it. Are you still hungry? There’s some crème caramel in the fridge at home.”

“Couldn’t eat any more.”

“Perhaps later then.”

Eggsy eyes Harry warily. There’s something about the way the other man says the word _later_ that makes him immediately suspicious. “Got something in mind, have you?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Harry takes his hand off Eggsy’s thigh as the taxi slows and turns. “Ah, here we are.” He holds up a small object Eggsy recognises as the house key. “Go on inside. Help yourself to a drink, if you like. No alcohol.”

Eggsy counts it a minor success that he doesn’t fall out of the taxi this time. He leaves Harry to pay the fare and heads inside, toeing off his trainers in Harry’s hallway and taking off his jacket. He goes to hang it up but at the last moment puts it on the stairs instead, grinning to himself as he thinks about how appalled Harry will be by that little bit of carelessness in his meticulously tidy house.

Harry, though, doesn’t say anything, although Eggsy is fairly sure Harry sees the jacket before he closes and locks the door behind him. He gives Eggsy a quick, searching glance instead, and asks him if he’s had a drink. Eggsy shakes his head.

“Not thirsty.”

Harry hangs up his overcoat, taking his time about it. For Eggsy it feels like an eternity. He taps out a restless pattern against the wall but Harry doesn’t respond to the pace Eggsy is trying to set.

“Are you going to fuck me or what?” he blurts out.

He’s used the word before in this hallway - usually when he’s been swearing at Harry for putting him in some maddening situation - but it’s never landed with such weight, never sounded so shockingly loud. He’s nowhere near drunk but having finally given voice to the question that’s been tormenting him for weeks Eggsy feels almost giddy with anticipation as he stares at Harry, trying to get a read on the other man’s reaction.

Harry, though, isn’t playing.

“Hang your jacket up.”

“Giving me orders, Harry?”

“Think of it as a suggestion.”

There’s something about the way Harry says it – impassive and stern and coolly detached - that fires Eggsy’s blood, that makes him want to push, to not take the easy option, that makes him pull a face at Harry, but it calls to him too, to some part of his brain he never knew existed before he met Harry, the part that has him leaning over to snag the jacket from the stairs. He straightens up, turns around, but before he can do anything Harry is _there_ , pushing him up against the wall before Eggsy can react and then holding him there, his hands gripping Eggsy’s wrists. Eggsy instinctively tries to struggle and discovers that, like this, with his wrists held firmly by Harry’s hands and the weight of Harry’s body full against his, he has next to no leverage.

He’s pretty sure Harry can feel exactly how hard he’s getting.

“Doing what you told me, Harry,” he says anyway. “Hanging up the jacket.”

“Fuck the jacket,” Harry says. His face is so close to Eggsy’s, close enough that he could kiss Eggsy, if he chose.

Eggsy shrugs - as much as he can in Harry’s vice-like grip. “Don’t think it’d be as much fun as fucking me.”

Harry’s little smile feels like a victory, but Eggsy’s jubilation is short-lived as the other man draws away, stepping back until Eggsy’s hands are held at his sides only by the press of Harry’s fingertips to his wrists.

“Keep them there,” Harry tells him. Eggsy opens his mouth to protest but then Harry _kneels_ , Harry kneels down in front of him and Eggsy nearly comes there and then.

“Harry-” he starts.

“No talking,” Harry interrupts. “Keep your hands still.”

Eggsy bites back on a startled cry: Harry’s hands are ruthlessly efficient when it comes to getting his jeans undone and tugged down his legs before Eggsy can react and now he’s standing in Harry’s hallway, half-naked, with Harry on his knees in front of him, his breath ghosting over the head of Eggsy’s cock.

“Harry-”

“What did I say?” Harry presses his thumbs into Eggsy’s hipbones, close but not close enough to where Eggsy wants them to be.

“S-sorry,” Eggsy gasps. It comes out strangled, because Harry wastes no time in swallowing him down and Eggsy’s cock is in Harry’s _mouth_ and Eggsy thinks he might have just died and gone to heaven because it’s _perfect_ and like nothing he’s ever experienced before. Harry doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t glance up to see how Eggsy is reacting, doesn’t waste time teasing him or drawing it out. He’s focused on one thing and one thing only and Eggsy can’t do anything but take what Harry gives him.

It’s over embarrassingly quickly: Eggsy tries to grunt a warning but Harry just tightens his hold on Eggsy’s hips and keeps going and Eggsy couldn’t stop if he tried. He _wails_ as he comes, fingers scrabbling frantically at the wall as he tries to hold still, and it’s only Harry’s hands that keep him from collapsing to the floor, hands that gently ease Eggsy into a sitting position on the stairs as he shudders through the aftershocks.

Eggsy finally manages to open his eyes. Harry, the _bastard_ , is standing across from him, smirking. He looks remarkably put-together for someone who just gave Eggsy the best blowjob of his _life_.

“All right?”

“Yeah,” Eggsy manages. “Very all right.” Harry’s still in his suit. His _fucking expensive_ suit. “Fucking _hell_ , Harry.”

Harry crosses the distance between them in a couple of steps, his hand - gentle now - cupping Eggsy’s jaw. Eggsy blinks up at him.

“You-” he gestures to his mouth.

“Yes.” Harry’s thumb brushes his cheek, almost but not quite resting on the last vestiges of the bruising around his eye. He smirks when he says:

“A gentleman always swallows, Eggsy.”

Eggsy rolls his eyes at him. “ _Harry_.”

“Come on, let’s finish off that creme caramel. And then,” Harry adds, in case Eggsy thought that was going to be it for the night, “I thought we’d do something different.”

The glint in his eyes is making Eggsy seriously rethink his refractory period. “Yeah,” he says. “All right.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eggsy and Harry continue their evening, and Eggsy discovers something new about himself - and Harry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This follows on directly from Chapter 9. Mostly smut; a bit of plot.

Harry makes sure to see that Eggsy picks up his jacket from where it had fallen from his nerveless fingers and hangs it up properly before anything else. Eggsy is still more than a little dazed and he stumbles over his own feet as he follows Harry first to the kitchen, where Harry pours them both a glass of water, and then back to the door that leads down to the cellar. Even in his stupefied state, Eggsy can’t resist needling Harry, just a little, as he goes to open the door

“Taking me down to your torture dungeon, Harry?”

Harry pulls the door open with what seems like very pointed determination. “Please don’t call it that.”

“Not my fault you’ve got a dungeon.”

“It’s a wine cellar, Eggsy.”

Eggsy follows him down the steps. “A what? And what the fuck is _that_?”

The last is said as Eggsy waves a hand in the direction of the box standing in the middle of the cellar, in between two of the pillars. He doesn’t remember seeing it the last time he was down here.

“A wine cellar,” Harry says mildly. “You know what that is.” He sets his water down on the floor. “It helps to keep wine at the right temperature.”

“Unless you’ve been buying invisible bottles, you ain’t got no wine down here, Harry.”

“Not at the moment, no, but the temperature control means it _is_ warm enough for you to get undressed.”

“Smooth, Harry, very smooth. What’s in the box?”

There’s just the faintest hint of a smile when Harry says:

“You’ll find out.”

There’s a chair down here too, one Eggsy doesn’t remember seeing before. It doesn’t look like it came from Harry’s dining room: it’s made of some lighter wood, more modern in styling than Harry’s other furniture.  Eggsy puts down his own glass and starts taking his clothes off. He doesn’t feel embarrassed about getting undressed in front of Harry but Harry keeps his back resolutely turned, like he wants to give Eggsy privacy. Eggsy folds his clothes up neatly and stacks them on top of his trainers. He thinks Harry will appreciate that.

“What you got in mind then, Harry?” The anticipation is starting to build again, a simmering flame of arousal for whatever Harry’s got planned.

Harry finally turns round, something held almost negligently in his hand. It’s the blindfold: Eggsy swallows thickly.

“I thought we’d start with this,” Harry says blandly.

He doesn’t ask if Eggsy wants to be blindfolded - although Eggsy’s answer would be a quick and very emphatic _yes_ anyway - but he takes his time walking around Eggsy to stand behind him, and he slips the blindfold over Eggsy’s eyes slowly and carefully, giving Eggsy every chance to protest or push him away if he chooses to. Eggsy has no intention of protesting, and he holds himself perfectly still as Harry fastens the blindfold at the back of his head and makes sure that the material fits snugly over Eggsy’s eyes. By the time he’s finished Eggsy can’t see a thing.

“Take a step back for me,” Harry instructs softly. “That’s it. A little to the left.” His hands press lightly on Eggsy’s shoulders, guiding him into the required position.

By Eggsy’s reckoning, he’s now standing between two of the pillars. Harry leaves him for a moment and Eggsy can hear the other man rummaging around with something. He’s tempted to push up the blindfold and see what Harry is up to, but he forces himself to hold still instead, waiting for Harry to finish whatever it is he’s doing.

“Eggsy,” Harry says, very quietly, close enough that Eggsy starts a little. He hadn’t heard Harry approaching.

“Fucking hell, Harry; give me some warning next time. Nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“I did warn you,” Harry points out in an eminently reasonable tone. Eggsy shivers as the other man takes hold of his wrist and gently tugs his arm a few inches out to the side. “Keep your hand there. The other one the same, thank you.”

Eggsy does what he’s told, curious as to what Harry has in mind. He gets his answer soon enough: Harry fastens a leather cuff around each of Eggsy’s wrists and, when Eggsy tries to bring his arms back down to his sides, he finds he can’t. He pulls against the restraint and hears the tell-tale clink of chain.

“Chaining me up in your dungeon, Harry. Very nice.”

“I think you’re enjoying yourself, Eggsy,” Harry says mildly. “How does that feel? Not too tight?”

Eggsy shakes his head. The cuffs are secure on his wrists but they’re not tight against his skin and he can easily turn and flex his hands. The position isn’t uncomfortable either. He can lift his arms up easily enough; he just can’t bring them down fully or touch himself. The realisation that he can’t touch himself is twinned with the realisation that he’s getting hard again, and there’s nothing he can do about either. He can’t stop Harry seeing and he can’t get himself off. He’s completely at Harry’s mercy. Sightless and chained up, helpless to stop Harry doing whatever he wants.

“Now,” Harry says quietly. “There’s something else I want to do, but you might not want to. Let’s see. Just hold your head still for a moment; I’ll take them out after thirty seconds, although you can tell me if you don’t like it.”

Eggsy has no idea what Harry is going on about and he flinches as Harry’s hands frame his face, Harry’s fingers pressing against his ears.

“Harry, wha-“ He breaks off abruptly as Harry steps back. Eggsy shakes his head but the things Harry has put in his ears don’t move. They feel a bit like earbuds, only softer and with a better seal than any earbuds Eggsy has ever owned. It takes Eggsy a second to work out what the sounds coming from them are: it’s a recording of traffic noise, soft and pitched to drown out anything else.

He can’t hear _anything_ else. He’s blind and restrained and now effectively deaf as well, helpless to anticipate anything that Harry might do. Eggsy can feel the soft puffs of Harry’s breath on his shoulder and the brush of fabric against his arm as Harry moves but he can’t see or hear him. Eggsy has spent too many years in a state of constant alertness to be anything other than disconcerted by the profound vulnerability of his situation.

But it’s _Harry_. He knows Harry isn’t going to break bones or beat him into submission. And if Harry wants to try something then Eggsy wants to try it too.

He wants this.

Harry reaches in again and takes the earbuds out. The sudden removal is oddly disorientating and Eggsy wobbles a little in his bonds. Harry’s hand cups his jaw, steadying him until Eggsy is sure on his feet.

“What do you think?” Harry asks neutrally.

“I- yeah.” Eggsy doesn’t need to think twice about it. “This is so I don’t know what you’re up to, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Call it the element of surprise.“

“I can’t see you, I can’t touch you, and I can’t hear you.” Eggsy twists his head towards where he thinks Harry is standing. “What are you going to do to me, Harry?”

“All sorts of terrible things,” Harry says gravely.

“Oh. Good.”

Harry’s fingers rest briefly over his covered eyes, testing the security of the blindfold again. “Sensory deprivation can be quite interesting. But don’t feel you have to have your ears blocked. If you’d rather not, that’s all right.”

“It’s fine,” Eggsy assures him.

“Mm. Remember, you can always use your safeword. You may not be able to hear me but I can hear you. I won’t be annoyed if you want me to take them out.”

“Yeah, I know.” Eggsy tugs on the chains again, straining his muscles against the cuffs. “You could do anything to me like this, couldn’t you?”

“Believe me, there are _plenty_ of things I’d like to do to you.” Harry sounds almost amused. “But I’ve forgotten something. I’m going to the kitchen. I won’t be more than a minute or two. I’ll hear you if you call out.”

“This’d better be good,” Eggsy grumbles. He hears Harry’s receding footsteps, and then the sound of him hurrying upstairs. Harry leaves the door open at the top of the stairs and Eggsy hears him open and close the fridge before he comes back. Whatever it is, Harry sets it down on the box before he returns to Eggsy.

“That’s better. Are you ready?”

“Yeah, go for it.”

This time Eggsy doesn’t flinch when Harry puts the earbuds in. Outside sounds are cut off as abruptly as they were before and now all he can hear is the same monotonous low-level traffic noise. And Harry is … gone.

Eggsy twists his head, trying to pick up some sign of the other man. He can’t hear him and there’s no air movement that he can feel, no brush of fabric against his skin. He tugs on the chains, harder than before. If Harry has gone upstairs again and left him here, Eggsy is going to kill him. Somewhere between annoyed and worried, he pulls on the chains again and this time Harry’s hands settle on his shoulders, a firm and reassuring pressure. Eggsy lets out the breath he was holding.

The gentle sweep of Harry’s fingers across his shoulder blades feels like an apology but the touch is cursory, the introductory phase of what Eggsy quickly realises is Harry’s quest to map out every sensitive area of Eggsy’s body. There’s no obvious pattern to Harry’s exploration, no way Eggsy can predict where the next light, teasing touch of fingers will be. The inside of one elbow, the back of a knee, the nape of his neck, the small of his back; every time Harry touches him it feels like a jolt of electricity rushing through already over-sensitised nerves. And Harry is merciless in his torment, never letting Eggsy regain some composure before moving on to the next spot.

When he lightly scrapes the arches of Eggsy’s feet Eggsy starts cursing him - he can’t hear his own voice but he hopes Harry can. By the time Harry is stroking the crease of his thigh, Eggsy is begging. He pictures Harry on his knees as stubble scrapes the skin of his thigh: Eggsy wants so desperately to _see_ him, wants Harry to swallow him down again, hold him against the wall, take everything he wants.

Harry pulls away instead. Eggsy goes back to cursing. A moment later he feels cold metal against his lower lip. He opens his mouth, feeling the shape of the spoon Harry is holding. Harry is trying to feed him something.

It’s crème caramel. Eggsy would laugh if he wasn’t otherwise engaged. Harry patiently feeds him three spoonfuls of it before offering him a glass of water. Eggsy takes a small sip.

“Get on with it,” he tells Harry. He hopes it comes out properly. “ _Fucking_ get on with it.”

Harry is gone again, for longer this time. It feels like minutes, although it almost certainly isn’t. Eggsy yelps and nearly loses his balance as Harry’s hand closes around his cock, warm and slick with what feels like lube. Eggsy groans as Harry strokes him with a firm, sure grip. He’s pretty sure it’s going to be over embarrassingly quickly, again, but Harry is too ruthless, too skilled for Eggsy to even think about holding back and Eggsy tenses in anticipation, gripping onto the chains as Harry’s pace increases and he’s rushing towards climax, teetering on the edge of the precipice-

-as Harry takes his hand away and something icy cold is pressed against Eggsy’s right nipple.

“Fuck!” Eggsy yells, body jerking away from the source of the jarring cold. He stumbles, and would have fallen if not for Harry’s arm around his waist, steadying him until he can get his feet under him again. “What the fuck, Harry!”

Harry teases him with whatever it is, holding it just close enough that Eggsy can feel the chill of it against his skin. Eggsy throws a few choice swearwords in what he thinks is Harry’s general direction and Harry takes it away, only to press it firmly against Eggsy’s left nipple just as Eggsy starts to relax.

“Fucking hell, Harry!”

Harry rubs his back, starting at his shoulders and slowly working his way down, while Eggsy twists in his chains, alternately cursing Harry and pleading with him to do more. But Harry isn’t cooperative at  all: every time Harry’s hand strays lower than Eggsy’s waist it’s hastily pulled away and Harry swiftly moves to another, safer spot. Harry’s taken the time to clean his hands but there’s still a trace of lube on them, and his hands slide easily over Eggsy’s skin, never rubbing too hard or lingering too long on any one spot. Harry’s hands go everywhere but where Eggsy wants them and he’s still hard, still desperate for release. It feels like an eternity of torment before Harry stops the gentle caresses and steps away.

Eggsy waits, heart pounding in anticipation. Something like a shout escapes his mouth when Harry’s hand, slick with lube, closes around his cock again.

"Fuck ... fucking hell ... just fucking do it ... please..."

Harry draws it out longer the second time, although Eggsy has lost all track of time and it could be minutes or hours. He feels disconnected from the world, tethered only by the chains and Harry’s hand on him. Harry keeps changing the rhythm of it, never quite giving Eggsy enough friction to get off, and every time Eggsy thinks he might be getting somewhere Harry takes his hand away completely, backing Eggsy away from the edge before he can tumble over. Eggsy quickly loses track of how many times Harry brings him to the brink; it’s all too much, too much sensation and not enough. His blood is on fire, his skin stretched too tight, every fibre of his body straining for the release Harry is denying. By the time Harry pauses to feed Eggsy some more of the crème caramel and another mouthful of water, Eggsy can hardly think at all. He’s past caring what he looks and sounds like, or what Harry makes of his growing incoherency. He whines when Harry pulls away, moans when Harry starts stroking him again. Harry is deliberately taunting him, his hand forming a slick, tight fist for Eggsy to thrust into and nothing more, letting Eggsy do the work. Eggsy knows he must look and sound ridiculous, moaning incoherently and jerking his hips forward, but somehow it’s mortifying and oddly arousing at the same time. Harry still isn’t giving him enough friction: every time Eggsy starts to get somewhere Harry moves his hand a little further away so Eggsy has to jerk forwards a little more against the chains holding his arms.

Harry stops it again and makes Eggsy drink some more water. His hand cups the nape of Eggsy’s neck, a gentle and possessive hold that Eggsy feels to the depths of his soul. It steadies him, grounds him, and stills him as Harry starts to stroke him with firm, decisive strokes. _This is it_ , Eggsy thinks. This time Harry is going to let him come. He grips onto the chains, his heart pounding frantically in his chest as his body winds itself tight in anticipation of a long-awaited release. Eggsy jerks his hips, frantically chasing the friction of Harry’s hand, as his body winds tight in anticipation, as-

-as Harry stops stroking him and presses what feels like an entire fist-full of ice to his cock and Eggsy’s imminent orgasm instantly evaporates even as he tips over the edge of no return. Eggsy screams in shock and dismay as his body shudders and convulses, the sound loud and piercing in his own head, drowning out the traffic noise and the roaring of blood in his ears. He can feel the sensation of cum spurting weakly from his cock but other than that he feels nothing.

Eggsy sags against the chains, panting for breath. Harry catches him around the waist and Eggsy instinctively tries to turn towards him, rubbing his face against Harry’s shoulder. Harry deftly removes the earbuds and rubs Eggsy’s back.

“It’s all right, Eggsy. It’s all right,” he says gently. His voice is like a balm to Eggsy’s ears. “I’ve got you.”

“You fucking bastard,” Eggsy says hoarsely. His eyes are wet. “You-“

Harry kisses him; a light, fleeting kiss. “If it makes you feel any better, you’ve made a mess of my clothes.”

“You fucking deserve it,” Eggsy tells him. He feels uncertain on his feet, like he might collapse without Harry’s hold on him. “What did- how did you do that?”

“Distraction. Applying an unpleasant sensation at the point of no return.” Harry uncuffs Eggsy’s left wrist, allowing Eggsy to turn into him. “Spoils the pleasure a bit, doesn’t it?”

“I fucking hate you.” Harry’s shirt is soft against his face and underneath it Eggsy can feel the warmth and strength of Harry’s body.

“I know you do.” Harry kisses him again, less fleeting this time. Eggsy clings to him, trying to get closer still, and Harry obliges, moving to let Eggsy press up against him. “Was it very bad? Think you could go again?”

Eggsy’s cock is still half-hard and when Harry shifts his leg he rubs up against Harry’s still-clothed thigh. “Yeah, probably,” he says uncertainly. It doesn’t feel like it does normally after he comes; he’s not sure exactly what he _does_ feel. Confused, frustrated, aroused and, overlaid on all of that, something else, something he can’t quite get a handle on. “It wasn’t that bad,” he admits.

Even with the blindfold on, Eggsy knows Harry is watching him. Gauging his expression. “I had a suspicion you might like it. If you want to, you can come this time.”

Eggsy snorts half-heartedly. “Sure about that? No ice this time?”

“I’m not going to tease you all night.” There’s something about the way Harry says it, his voice soft and low in Eggsy’s ear, something that makes Eggsy shudder because he’s pretty sure that Harry could and _would_ tease him all night. “But I _am_ going to give you a choice.” He shifts his leg again, so that Eggsy can feel that Harry, too, is hard. Hard for _him_. “One of us is going to come, Eggsy, but only one. It’s up to you which of us it’s going to be.”

“Guh,” Eggsy says intelligently. He thinks his brain might have just short-circuited. “Why-why don’t you decide?”

“Because I want to see what _you_ decide.” Harry shifts his leg away, so Eggsy can’t rub against him. Eggsy pulls a face, and feels Harry’s silent chuckle. “There’s no wrong answer. Not from my perspective, anyway.”

In Harry-language, that means Harry won’t be angry or disappointed whatever he decides, Eggsy deduces. His brain might still not be fully back online but he can work that out. Which means Harry genuinely doesn’t mind which answer Eggsy gives, because he’ll enjoy it either way. Which means … which means it’s solely _Eggsy_ _’s_ decision.

Eggsy takes a deep breath. “You,” he says shakily. He hears the slight hitch in Harry’s breathing in response and - _god_ \- Eggsy wants to get on his knees for him.

“Eggsy,” Harry says, very softly. “What _am_ I going to do with you?”

_Anything you want_ , Eggsy thinks. He doesn’t say it out loud.

Harry’s fingers trace the line of Eggsy’s jaw, before his hand moves to Eggsy’s shoulder, a gentle push that sends Eggsy to his knees. He hears the scrape as Harry drags the chair across the floor towards him and he feels the air shift as Harry sits down, close but tantalisingly out of reach.

“Harry-“ he begins. His voice breaks.

“Stay still for me, Eggsy.”

Eggsy obeys. He holds as still as he can, listening avidly to the unmistakable sound of the slide of skin on skin and Harry’s quiet, increasingly erratic breathing and soft sighs. It’s torture of a different but no less excruciating kind to listen but not be able to touch or see.

“You’re doing very well,” Harry tells him, sounding more than a little breathless, and something warm unfurls in Eggsy’s chest at the praise. The thought of Harry coming undone, stroking himself while he watches Eggsy kneeling for him, is intoxicating.

“I could do better.” It comes out of his mouth before he can think better of it. Harry doesn’t reply but his hand comes to rest lightly on the back of Eggsy’s head. He’s not so far away after all, maybe leaning forward so he can touch Eggsy. “Tell me what you want, Harry,” Eggsy encourages. He shuffles forwards on his knees, trying to inch closer. Harry keeps a hold on him but he doesn’t stop the movement.

The sound that comes out of Harry’s mouth is half-laugh, half-sob. “You make it very hard to be a good person, Eggsy,” he says huskily.

Eggsy grins, turning his face up so Harry will see. “Then be a bad one.”

The grip Harry has on his head tightens, almost to the point of pain, but Eggsy doesn’t flinch or protest as Harry groans, almost like it _hurts_ , and the first spatter of cum hits Eggsy squarely between the eyes, over the material of the blindfold.  He’s surrounded by Harry, by his touch, by his scent, by the sounds he’s making, and all Eggsy can think is, _I did this. This is for me_.

It’s only afterwards, when he’s leaning against Harry’s knee and listening to Harry’s ragged breathing slowly settle back into its normal steady rhythm, that Eggsy realises he had his hands behind his back the whole time, without Harry telling him to put them there.

“Eggsy,” Harry says, interrupting his train of thought. His voice sounds shaky, like he’s off-balance and is trying very hard to get control of himself again. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah.” Eggsy stretches his arms experimentally. “Pretty sure there’s cum in my hair though.”

“There is.” Harry says apologetically, sounding more sure of himself now. “Sorry about that. Do you want to close your eyes? I’m going to take the blindfold off.”

Eggsy doesn’t close his eyes, and regrets it immediately when Harry unbuckles the blindfold and the light is brighter than he remembers. He hears Harry’s amused snort as he presses his hands over his eyelids but Harry refrains from making a sarcastic comment,

“Do you want some more to drink?” he says instead.

Eggsy shakes his head. He’s aware of Harry standing up and moving around and he takes a cautious peek. Harry is all buttoned-up again but his face is still delicately flushed, a faint sheen of sweat on his skin. And, yeah, his trousers will probably need dry-cleaning. Eggsy can’t be bothered to feel guilty about making a mess of them.

“You should get some sleep,” Harry says as they go back upstairs. “You can have a shower and go to bed, if you like.”

“I’m fine,” Eggsy says, and it’s not a lie. He’s not remotely sleepy; if anything he feels restless. Still half-hard and like he could maybe go again but there’s no urgency to it, no demanding need. “I- Are _you_ going to bed?”

“No. I don’t sleep much.” Harry looks tired, whatever he says. “Go and have a shower.”

“Starting to get offended here, Harry.” Eggsy raises his hands in defeat as Harry starts to scowl. “All right, I’m going.”

Harry catches hold of his wrist, tugging Eggsy gently to him so he can examine each wrist in turn. There isn’t much to see; just a faint reddened mark on each side where Eggsy pulled against the cuffs. Harry rubs his thumb lightly over one of the marks while watching Eggsy’s face intently, searching for any sign of pain. Eggsy rolls his eyes at him.

“It doesn’t hurt.”

Harry kisses him in lieu of a response, like he knows that Eggsy wants nothing more than to get down on his knees again and would, if Harry gave him half a chance. Eggsy moans, clinging to Harry as he opens his mouth to the kiss. Harry kisses like he does everything else, with devastating thoroughness and tightly-controlled passion, and maybe it’s because he’s been left wanting but it feels like his whole body is lighting up in response to Harry; every cell, every atom in his body realigning itself.

“Shower,” Harry murmurs when he finally pulls away.

“You could come with me,” Eggsy points out; reasonably, he thinks.

Harry, though, shakes his head. “I have something to do first. Work,” he adds, to forestall Eggsy’s argument. “Go on.”

Eggsy goes, reluctantly; he knows Harry has good reasons for telling him to shower. He’s sweaty and covered in lube and cum and the water is deliciously hot against the aching muscles in his shoulders. He stands underneath the spray for longer than he meant to, letting the water cascade down his back and over his chest. It occurs to him, somewhat belatedly, that Harry didn’t say he couldn’t get himself off, and maybe Harry intended that he _should_. Eggsy wraps his hand loosely around his cock, but it feels strange, like he doesn’t really want it to go any further.

_One of us is going to come_ , Harry had said. And Eggsy made his choice.

He takes his hand away, finishes the shower. There’s a fresh pair of pyjamas laid out for him on Harry’s bed, soft and expensive-looking like the ones he wore before but not - he realises when he pulls them on - quite the same. These pyjamas are sized for him, not Harry. Which means Harry went out and bought them for him.

Eggsy goes back downstairs with every intention of asking Harry about it but when he walks into the living room, the question dies on his lips: Harry is asleep in the armchair, his phone slipping from his fingers. Eggsy retrieves the phone before it can fall to the floor and then he just watches Harry for a moment, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

_Wore him out, didn_ _’t I_.

Eggsy grins to himself. He backs out of the living room and goes to make himself a drink. Harry has a machine that makes coffee and hot chocolate and Eggsy has a sudden, almost nostalgic urge for hot chocolate right now, something that will maybe settle the restlessness he can’t shake off. It's not a _bad_ feeling as such. He feels a bit like he did when the hospital gave him some really good painkillers for his broken arm: not totally out of it but a bit spaced out. Of course Dean had promptly flogged the box of tablets the hospital had given him and had only - grudgingly - bought him a 20p box of paracetamol when his mum insisted.

Eggsy refuses to think about Dean right now. 

It takes him a minute to work out the controls, and then the thing beeps at him, the display demanding some sort of maintenance disc be inserted. Eggsy starts opening cupboards at random, looking for something that looks like the right thing. Harry’s cupboards are less organised than the rest of his house might suggest and when Eggsy opens the third cupboard a whole stack of boxes fall out - tea and coffee and something Eggsy can’t read the label of. He’s hurriedly putting them all back when his attention is caught by something not quite right, something unusual in the panel at the back of the cabinet.

Curious, Eggsy moves a few more boxes out of the way so he can see better. It’s hard to see the line that bisects the panel; it’s almost invisible unless it’s viewed from the right angle. Most people probably wouldn’t give it a second glance.

Eggsy presses on the panel, not expecting it to move, and the whole right-hand side of it depresses and something clicks and it opens to reveal a small cavity behind. Eggsy can only just about reach into the small hiding hole. He knows he’s probably crossing a line now: Harry has every right to keep money or valuables or whatever else he needs to stash away out of sight without Eggsy rifling through his stuff, and if he wakes up and comes through to the kitchen Eggsy is going to have some explaining to do. Not that he’s intending to steal anything from Harry - he just wants to see what Harry has hidden away.

But then his fingers close around the cold, unyielding metal of the thing hidden behind Harry’s kitchen cabinet and Eggsy promptly wishes he’d never opened the panel in the first place. because what Harry has hidden away is something someone like Harry shouldn’t have in his house.

Eggsy very carefully sets the gun back down and closes up its hiding place again, replacing the boxes as best he can as they were before. He’s on the other side of the room when Harry walks in, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

“Eggsy?”

“I was looking for the disc for that thing.” Eggsy points at the machine, impressed at how normal his voice sounds.

“In the drawer. I keep forgetting to run it through. Here, let me do it. Are you having hot chocolate?”

“Thanks,” Eggsy mumbles. It’s all so normal, like Harry is just _Harry_ and not someone who hides a gun in his kitchen. Not someone who fights the way Harry fights. Eggsy watches him shuffle around the kitchen, relaxed and sleepy-looking and familiar, and remembers him taking the Pavlides brothers out in less than a minute. Like someone who’s used to fighting to win. Like a _professional_.

_I wasn_ _’t always a tailor, Eggsy_ , Harry had said the first time they met.

And now Eggsy isn’t sure what he is at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realise that the idea of someone having a gun in their kitchen is, depending on where you live, not necessarily surprising or shocking. From Eggsy's perspective, for someone like Harry to have one, in a country where it is mostly unheard of to have a handgun in your house, it certainly is.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follows directly on from Chapter 10.

The first time Eggsy wakes up it's still dark and for the first few seconds he's completely disorientated, before he remembers that he's in Harry's bed and that his bedroom window hasn't mysteriously moved position in the middle of the night.

The reason he's awake is immediately apparent: the muscles in his shoulders and upper arms are aching; a stabbing, throbbing pain that radiates across his body and down his back. Eggsy tries to turn onto his side and the rest of his muscles get in on the act and the yell he gives is loud enough to both wake Harry up and possibly be heard right at the end of the street.

"Eggsy?" Harry sits up in bed and, at any other time, Eggsy would comment on Harry's uncanny and somewhat unnerving ability to go from deep sleep to awake and alert in an instant. Now, though, he's too distracted by the agony he's in.

"Are you all right, Eggsy?" Harry asks. The bedside light flicks on,

"No," Eggsy manages.

Harry's hand settles on his back. "Are you hurt?"

"Shoulders. Back. Fucking hurts. Everything hurts."

"Ah. I'll get you something for the pain."

Harry gets out of bed and Eggsy has to stifle another yell as the movement jostles him. Even flexing his fingers hurts. He aches in places he hadn’t known _existed_.

Harry is mercifully quick with a glass of water and a familiar-looking tablet, and he offers them to Eggsy with a look that dares Eggsy to ask what the tablet is. Not that Eggsy cares either way; he just wants the pain to stop.

"Give it a couple of minutes for that to start kicking in," Harry tells him when Eggsy has swallowed the tablet down. He sets the glass down on the bedside table and stands up. "I'll be back in a moment."

"Okay." Eggsy closes his eyes and tries to relax, a task made virtually impossible by the waves of agony washing over him every time he breathes in. To distract himself, he counts his breaths, in and out, like the deep breathing he used practice with his mum when she was pregnant with Daisy. The thought makes him laugh, something he immediately regrets when that sets off a whole new muscle group. By the time Harry comes back from the bathroom, though, Eggsy can feel the pain receding. He's fairly sure the tablet Harry gave him is the same type of painkillers he's had before, because when Harry sits down on the edge of the bed next to him it hardly registers at all.

"Any better?" Harry asks.

"A bit."

Harry rubs his back, a light, inquisitive touch. "You were straining your muscles quite a lot last night. Your shoulders probably took the brunt of it."

"Yeah? And whose fault is that?"

"Oh, mine, absolutely." Harry's hand presses more firmly, right over a muscle in spasm. Eggsy thinks he would probably be on the ceiling right now if he didn't have the painkiller to dull the edges of the pain and lull him back into sleep. "We might have to work on your flexibility a little, to avoid something like this happening again."

"Work on my-" Eggsy breaks off on a groan as Harry's fingers locate a new source of pain. "You got an exercise programme for me, Harry?"

"It wouldn't hurt." Harry's tone is mild and Eggsy can't be bothered to feel offended. Harry’s hand is warm and soothing and the chemicals coursing through his veins make everything wonderful. The way Harry splays his hand across his back, holding Eggsy down, is reassuring. "You have a lot of potential but that doesn't mean there isn't room for improvement."

"Oh my _god_ , Harry," Eggsy mumbles, and promptly falls asleep again.

The second time he wakes up daylight is creeping into the room around Harry’s blackout curtains and Eggsy is alone in bed. He lies still for a moment, cautiously trying out small movements to see how much it hurts. This time, though, there’s nothing more than a lingering ache in his muscles. The combination of the painkiller and Harry’s magic hands seems to have done the trick.

The house is very quiet and Eggsy can’t hear Harry moving around. He lifts his head to look over at Harry’s alarm clock and winces: it’s 10am. Harry’s probably been up for hours. Cautiously he slides out of bed, straightens the sheets, and heads for the bathroom.

There’s no sign of Harry when he goes downstairs. Eggsy waits for a few minutes, in case Harry makes an appearance, but the house remains just as eerily silent and still as it was when he woke up. Eggsy isn’t sure what to do; Harry’s never left him alone in the house before. He makes himself a cup of tea, using the last of the milk that’s in the fridge, but it’s only when he’s putting the tea bags away that the memory of last night’s discovery returns with an unwelcome jolt. He hesitates with the box in his hand, toying with the idea of opening the hidden cupboard again. The thought of Harry suddenly popping up and catching him in the act is not appealing. He has no idea what he’d even _say_ in that situation.

Eggsy slams the cupboard door shut, takes his tea into the living room, and tries not to think about it. It’s easier and certainly more pleasant to think about everything that preceded the discovery instead; about Harry’s hands on him, about the exquisite torment Harry inflicted on him. Eggsy is acutely aware of his own arousal; he’s been half-hard since he woke up. It’s not intense and it’s not _immediate_ , but it’s definitely there, simmering away in the background. There’s something else too, prickling under his skin, fizzing in his veins. Whatever it is, it makes him restless and fidgety, unable to settle. He ends up pacing one side of the living room to the other, again and again, the mug cradled in his hands.

He’s walked for what feels like miles and he’s down to the last dregs of his tea when he hears the key turn in the front door and, a moment later, the door click open. Eggsy is sure he’s making no sound whatsoever but, after the briefest of hesitations, the front door closes and Harry walks into the living room.

“Eggsy?”

The Tesco carrier bag Harry’s carrying looks incongruous with his dark grey suit and overcoat. Eggsy feels ridiculously under-dressed in his pyjamas.

“Um, I used the last of the milk.” He holds up his mug. “Sorry.”

“That’s why I went out.” Something about the way he says it makes Eggsy uneasy. Harry doesn’t look angry but there’s a tension in the way he holds himself, a sharpness in the way he looks at Eggsy. “Do you want some breakfast?”

Eggsy tries desperately not to look guilty. Maybe Harry knows - through some sixth sense or mind-reading or whatever - that Eggsy found his hidden gun. Maybe he’s in a world of shit and currently on borrowed time. “Yeah, please.”

“Good. I’ll do some bacon and eggs, if you want to set the table and make some toast. Would you like another cup of tea?”

Eggsy nods soundlessly. Harry likes torturing him: maybe this is just another game to him. Feed Eggsy up, make him think nothing bad is going to happen. Wait for Eggsy to drop his guard before he strikes.

If that _is_ Harry’s plan, he’s not stinting on the food. Eggsy finds himself presented with a plate positively overflowing with food and another mug of tea, made strong the way Harry likes it, and Eggsy decides that he might as well make the most of his last meal, if that’s what it’s going to be.

They eat without talking, only the soft ticking of the clock in the corner to disturb the silence. It’s not uncomfortable, but it’s not entirely comfortable either and Eggsy feels a distinct sense of relief when Harry finally turns to him and says:

“I’m sorry, for what happened.”

Eggsy blinks: that wasn't at all what he expected Harry to say. “What?”

“Last night,” Harry clarifies. “I fell asleep.”

“Yeah?” Eggsy takes a sip of tea, more to give himself time to think than anything else. He has no idea what Harry is getting at.

“I should have made sure you were all right, not left you alone.”

_Oh_. Eggsy gets it now, and he has to fight to suppress a smile. “You did,” he says; reasonably, he thinks.

Harry shakes his head. “I should have waited until you were out of the shower. Made sure you were all right.”

“Harry, it’s fine. Seriously. I was all right.” _Ransacking your kitche_ n. “You sorted my back, anyway. Doesn’t hurt at all.”

“It will when the painkiller wears off,” Harry says darkly, but he looks less tense now, like he’d been expecting Eggsy to be upset and angry about something Eggsy hadn’t even considered.

Then, just as Eggsy is starting to relax in turn, he adds:

“The gun was my father’s.”

Eggsy, halfway through a mouthful of scrambled eggs, coughs and chokes and it takes him a minute or two to get his breath again. Harry waits patiently for him to get himself under control before he says:

“I keep it for sentimental reasons - entirely illegally, obviously. I’d be grateful if you didn’t mention it to anyone. I have very little of my father’s to remember him by.”

“Yeah,” Eggsy manages. The relief he feels is monumental. The gun is a memento, a souvenir, and nothing more than that. “I mean, no, I won’t say anything. I’m not a snitch, never grassed anyone up.”

Harry smiles, the first genuine smile Eggsy’s seen from him all morning. “Much obliged, Eggsy.”

“How did you-?”

“Know you’d found it? You didn't close the hatch up again properly. Now, if you want to go and have a shower, I thought we’d go and get you a new phone.”

“I don’t need a phone,” Eggsy says automatically, although he does, because the cracked screen is getting worse and it’s started dropping calls. “And we talked about you buying me stuff.”

Harry smiles again, like he knew exactly what Eggsy would say. “Call it me being selfish; I want to be able to get hold of you. Or an early birthday present; that’s allowable, I’m sure.”

Eggsy frowns. His birthday is in two months but he’s fairly sure he’s never told Harry that. “I-”

“Nothing too extravagant. Just something that works.”

“Ok,” Eggsy says reluctantly. “But that’s it. I’m not having you buy me stuff, Harry. You can’t buy me.”

‘Your price is beyond rubies, Eggsy. Now go and have a shower. We’ll get you a phone, and then I thought we’d go to the cinema, go for dinner.”

“Like a date?”

“Perhaps,” Harry says neutrally.

It sounds … normal. Incongruous after last night. Eggsy stands up, hesitates. “Do you- do you want me to clear up?” He gestures at the plates.

Harry doesn’t reply straightaway; he gives Eggsy a long, considering look. “Would you like to?”

“You cooked me breakfast; only fair.”

Harry nods. “Then yes, thank you. Just put everything in the dishwasher.” He’s still watching Eggsy, like he’s working something out while Eggsy stacks the plates - carefully avoiding eye contact - and carries everything into the kitchen.

Eggsy isn’t used to loading a dishwasher: Dean’s always been too tight to buy one and Eggsy’s only ever used Jamal’s mum’s when he’s been round there. He stacks the plates and pans as best he can, and when Harry wanders in the other man only winces a little, which Eggsy will take as a success.

“The tablets are in the cupboard under the sink,” Harry says.

“Nothing hidden under there, is there?” Eggsy opens the cupboard. As expected, everything is set out neatly inside.

“I keep a rocket launcher under there, actually.”

Eggsy snorts; the sound turns to a strangled yelp as Harry’s hands settle on his hips. Harry uses the leverage to push Eggsy up against the counter.

“Something wrong, Eggsy?” Harry murmurs as he palms Eggsy’s cock through his pyjamas.

“Ngh.” Eggsy’s ability to string together a coherent sentence is rapidly disintegrating as Harry strokes him but he has just enough remaining brainpower to be startled, again, by how quickly and silently Harry can move.

“I wasn’t going to do this,” Harry continues, very softly. “But I was sitting there over breakfast thinking about you doing this to yourself in the shower last night and I just couldn’t resist.”

_What?_ “I didn’t, t-though,” Eggsy manages.

Harry’s hand stills, and Eggsy can’t help a whine that borders on petulant at the loss. “Didn’t what?”

“Last night. I didn’t. Because- because you said-“

The silence that follows seems to stretch for an eternity, long enough for Eggsy to start to wonder if Harry’s annoyed at him, if Harry had wanted him to jerk off in the shower and had expected Eggsy to work it out without having to be explicitly told. The thought that Harry is disappointed in him makes his heart sink.

“Eggsy,” Harry says eventually, his voice unaccountably husky. “What am I going to do with you?” His hand moves, but it only settles on Eggsy’s hip. “You never cease to surprise me.”

“That good or bad?” Eggsy twists in Harry’s grip, trying to get some friction where he needs it most.

Harry laughs and drops his hands, not giving Eggsy anything. “You can tell me later. Now go and have that shower. And Eggsy-“

“Yeah?”

Harry lightly squeezes the nape of Eggsy’s neck. “No touching yourself.”

It shouldn’t mean much - it’s his _neck_ \- but Eggsy feels that squeeze in every fibre of his body, like Harry is reaching into the heart of him and twisting him up and realigning him to suit Harry and only Harry. 

And Eggsy finds he doesn’t mind at all.

Harry relinquishes his hold. “Go,” he instructs, and Eggsy goes.

He’s tempted to cheat - it would be so easy, after all, when he’s in the bathroom with a locked door between himself and Harry, and hot water sluicing over his body to easily wash away the evidence. Harry might not even guess, and if he does it would be too late anyway. He has no idea what Harry has planned and it’s not like it _matters_ \- he can come again, if Harry wants him to. It might be his _only_ chance to come, that’s all; if Harry doesn’t let him today.

Eggsy turns it over in his mind, his hand hovering indecisively. Harry won’t know, he thinks. He can be quick.

Suddenly, without warning, the pleasantly hot, relaxing shower turns into an ice-cold deluge that kills both that line of thought and Eggsy’s erection. Eggsy gives an undignified yelp as he leaps clear of the frozen torrent.

“Sorry,” Harry shouts from downstairs. Even muffled, Eggsy can hear the lack of sincerity in Harry’s voice. He grits his teeth, turns the shower off, and grabs for a towel.

As he towels himself dry, rubbing some warmth back into his chilled limbs, Eggsy thinks dark thoughts about Harry’s lack of subtlety. It’s not denial - he hardly had a chance to even get _started_ \- but it makes him feel restless and out of sorts, so much so he’s almost surprised to find that he looks much the same as usual when he studies his own reflection in the mirror.

He uses Harry’s aftershave. He thinks it smells better on Harry.

Harry, as promised, doesn’t make a big deal out of spending money on Eggsy. Eggsy goes through the motions of protesting his brand new iPhone but it’s a half-hearted protest and he knows Harry knows it. Eggsy consoles himself with the delights of watching Harry carve his way through the Regent Street crowds. There’s something about the way Harry carries himself that has people scrambling over themselves to clear a path for him, a _presence_ Eggsy knows he could never hope to replicate.

Harry keeps a hand on Eggsy’s thigh when they’re in the taxi, a tantalising reminder that he _could_ slide his hand just a little bit higher if he chose to do so, that he _could_ get Eggsy off if he were minded to, and to hell with the tourists and the van drivers peering through the windows at them at traffic lights.

The cinema Harry takes him to isn’t the sort of cinema Eggsy’s to; the exterior is distinctly old-fashioned and the interior strikes Eggsy at first sight as the kind of place that shows obscure subtitled films and doesn’t have much time for people who look like Eggsy. He looks around dubiously and Harry seems to sense his hesitation.

“Still want to see a film?”

“Yeah. What are we seeing?”

“I thought _Guardians of the Galaxy_.”

Eggsy’s gaze snaps from a poster advertising the popcorn prices to Harry to find Harry smirking at him. “Didn’t think that was your kind of film, Harry.”

“You’d be surprised,” Harry says dryly. “Popcorn?”

Ten minutes later, Eggsy is settled into a surprisingly-comfortable seat with more food than he knows what to do with in a small cinema with exactly four other people, one of whom is Harry. Eggsy doesn’t go to the cinema often but this is nothing like anything he’s used to. He realises _why_ Harry chose this cinema when the lights go down and Harry’s hand, which has been on the armrest between them, moves easily into Eggsy’s lap.

“Harry,” Eggsy hisses warningly as the hand cups him lightly.

The other man doesn’t even blink. Eggsy squirms in his seat as Harry increases the pressure a little. They’re sitting near the back of the cinema, four rows from the nearest other person, at the end of the row furthest from the single walkway so there’s no one to overlook them, but Eggsy still feels incredibly exposed.

Harry takes his hand away. Eggsy is torn between relief and disappointment that Harry didn’t start jerking him off right in middle of the cinema, didn’t make him come in his pants and sit like that all the way through the film, sticky and uncomfortable.

There’s probably something wrong with him that he wouldn’t mind, he thinks.

The remainder of the film passes without incident, although Eggsy finds it hard to lose himself in the film with Harry next to him. He spends at least twenty minutes fantasising about sliding to his knees in front of Harry, sucking him off in the darkness, and it’s almost a relief when the film ends and the lights go up, even if that leaves him with the dilemma of how to get out of the cinema with an erection.

“We’ll give it a few minutes,” Harry says blandly, casually, not making an issue of it. He offers Eggsy a drink of what’s left of the 7-Up he bought for them to share.

“Thanks,” Eggsy mutters. He declines the proffered cup with a shake of his head and tries desperately to think of something profoundly unerotic. The cinema has emptied but there’s no sign of anyone coming in to clean it up, like Eggsy would expect to see.

It’s nearly ten minutes, in the end, before he’s ready to move, and he’s still half-hard when Harry whisks them out of the cinema. Eggsy is so distracted he doesn’t realise they’re on the street until Harry is bundling him into a waiting taxi. Harry slides an arm around him and holds him close all the way back to Stanhope Mews.

“Now,” Harry says when they’re back inside the house. “Put your phone in the living room and get yourself a snack if you’re hungry.”

“Couldn’t eat another thing,” Eggsy assures him. He’s full-up on nachos and popcorn and Minstrels. He hangs his jacket up and puts the bag with his new phone on the floor.

“Good. Come with me.”

Eggsy follows Harry into the dining room, his heart pounding in anticipation. He drops into what he’s come to think of as _his_ chair and waits expectantly as Harry goes over to the dresser, opens one of the cupboard doors, and brings out a wooden box about the size of a sheet of A4 and a couple of inches deep. Harry sets the box down on the table in front of Eggsy and disappears into the kitchen briefly, only to return with a couple of cloths, a folded newspaper, and a bottle of silver polish. Harry sets those down in front of Eggsy too.

“Off you go,” Harry says. “That cutlery belonged to my grandparents, and it hasn’t been cleaned for a while. Put the newspaper down first so you don’t mark the table.”

Eggsy looks down at the box and then up at Harry. “You want me to clean knives and forks?” he says incredulously. This isn’t what he expected at _all_.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I want you to do it.”

Eggsy looks at the box again. Gingerly, he takes the lid off. There are a _lot_ of knives and forks, heavy-looking, ornate things. “What do I get out of it?”

“The satisfaction of knowing you did something that pleased me. And,” Harry adds, lightly touching two fingers to Eggsy’s cheek in a fleeting caress, “because I think you’d like to do it.”

Eggsy frowns but he picks up the newspaper and starts to unfold it.

“What if I don’t want to?”

“Then you don’t do it. You know what to say if you really don’t want to do something I ask of you.”

And that’s it: Harry doesn’t try to persuade him or put pressure on him to do it. Eggsy picks up the bottle of silver polish and starts reading the instructions. “You gonna watch me do it too?”

“No. I’ll be in my study, upstairs.”

He’s not joking: Harry makes them both a cup of tea, leaves Eggsy’s on the table next to him on a coaster with a watercolour of Westminster Abbey on it, and goes upstairs with his own. Eggsy hears him moving around, the opening and then closing of the study door. And then - nothing.

Eggsy looks at the things laid out in front of him, sighs, and gets to work.

And it’s- it’s not what he thought it was going to be. The repetitive movements the cleaning and polishing require are soothing in their own way, helping to ease the restlessness he’s been feeling all day. There’s a definite feeling of accomplishment in getting rid of every spot of tarnish and seeing the fruits of his labour in the slowly growing pile of spotless cutlery. And, more than that, there’s a strange sense of fulfilment in doing something for Harry and only for Harry, something that’s nothing to do with getting off.

By the time he’s finishing off the last knife, his hands are starting to cramp a little. He nearly drops it when his phone rings.

It’s Harry.

“Can you come upstairs, please?”

“Y-yeah. Ok.” Eggsy hangs up, noticing as he does so that the screen has cracked a bit more. _Good thing I_ _’ve got a new phone._ He gets to his feet, suddenly clumsy. He makes his way upstairs, expecting to find Harry in the bedroom, but then he notices that the door to the study is ajar. Eggsy hesitates: he’s never been in Harry’s study. Early on, Harry made it clear the study was off limits as far as Eggsy was concerned and Eggsy’s always respected that.

“Come in,” Harry calls, like he knows exactly why Eggsy is hovering on the landing. Eggsy goes in, and stops, because the study is _nothing_ like the rest of Harry’s house. No furniture that looks like it was inherited from three generations of ancestors, no heritage wallpaper and country house decorations. Harry sits at his desk, watching Eggsy intently as he looks around - probably, Eggsy thinks, taking a lot of amusement in Eggsy’s startled reaction.

“I, um, did your knives and forks.”

“Come here,” Harry says evenly. He pushes his chair back from the desk. He’s in his shirt sleeves, Eggsy notices, his jacket hung up on the coat stand in the corner of the room. “But get undressed first.”

Eggsy swallows, adrenaline flooding his body as he fumbles with his shirt. He piles his discarded clothing on the only other chair in the room and makes his way over to the desk, where Harry has left just enough space for Eggsy to stand between the chair and the desk.

“Like the _Sun_ , then,” Eggsy says, gesturing at the wall behind Harry.

Harry doesn’t respond to that. His hands settle on Eggsy’s hips, fingers splayed across Eggsy’s skin like he’s placing a brand, leaving his mark. He encourages Eggsy to perch on the edge of the desk, before easing him back so Eggsy has to support his upper body with his hands. Only then do Harry’s hands slide lower, guiding Eggsy’s thighs apart.

“Harry, I-” Eggsy’s voice cracks as Harry swallows him down without preamble or hesitation. The sudden heat and friction are almost too much to bear after the hours of denial, teasing, and anticipation, and Eggsy finds himself hurtling towards climax with no thought to holding back or trying to prolong it. “Please,” he gasps, hoping Harry will understand without words that he can’t bear to be denied again, that he needs this, that he needs Harry to give him release this time. His arms are trembling with the strain of supporting his upper body and Harry is holding his hips hard enough to bruise but none of that matters because this time Harry doesn’t deny him, doesn’t pull away, doesn’t hesitate for a moment as Eggsy comes with a broken-off yell, a release so sudden and so blinding that his arms give way beneath him and only Harry’s hold on him stops him from falling inelegantly backwards onto the desk.

Harry, half-standing now and supporting Eggsy’s shoulders and lower back, encourages him to stand up on trembling legs and then to sit on the chair, straddling Harry. Eggsy is too dazed to do anything other than go along with it, still shuddering through the aftershocks as Harry holds him close. He buries his face in the crook of Harry’s neck and breathes in Harry’s warm scent and feels Harry’s strong, steady pulse against his skin.

“Did I do it all right?” he mumbles.

He feels the tiny hitch in Harry’s breathing. “You were perfect, Eggsy. Well done. Why don’t you have a shower and I’ll make us some dinner?”

Eggsy reluctantly gets to his feet, and winces at the mess he’s made of Harry’s previously-immaculate shirt and trousers. “I’m not hungry.” He’s tired, though; more than he’d realised. He rubs his back and Harry’s eyes track the movement.

“Is your back hurting again?”

“A bit,” Eggsy admits. “Not as bad as it was before.”

“All right. Go and have a shower, I’ll make you something light.”

“Not going to turn a fucking tap on again, are you?”

Harry doesn’t look remotely guilty about his earlier actions. “No. But you have to admit it worked.”

“Yeah, I love cold showers,” Eggsy grumbles. His attention is caught by something strange, something out of place, and he opens his mouth to ask Harry about it when Harry’s phone rings.

Harry glances at the screen and gives Eggsy an apologetic look. “I have to answer that.”

Eggsy can take a hint. He doesn’t bother collecting his discarded clothes; he can pick them up later, when Harry is done with his phone call.

When he can ask Harry what his new iPhone is doing in Harry’s study.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 'beyond rubies' line from Harry has something of a double meaning (in Harry's mind: I don't think Eggsy would necessarily get the reference). Both relate to Bible verses (Proverbs 3:15, about wisdom, and Proverbs 31:10, about a wife of noble character).


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry has to go away for a while, but there's time to say goodbye properly.

Waking up with Harry is something that Eggsy could get used to, and not just because Harry’s bed is a hundred times more comfortable than his own. It feels _right_ to wake up next to Harry, like he’s meant to be here, like there was a space in Harry’s life just waiting for Eggsy to step into and make his own. It’s a fanciful thought, but one that makes Eggsy smile to himself as he stretches lazily. Harry is still asleep, frowning slightly, one hand splayed on the duvet between them as if he’s reaching for Eggsy even in sleep, and Eggsy tries not to move too much, or too noisily, so he doesn’t disturb the other man.

Eggsy can’t get used to just how _quiet_ it is in Harry’s house: even with the window cracked open at the top - because apparently Harry likes fresh air even when it’s freezing cold outside - the sound of the traffic on the main road is nothing but a distant hum. And even though the house shares walls with houses on either side Eggsy is very aware of the absence of the fragments of overheard conversation, over-loud tv, and door slamming that constitute the background music of his own home, the constant reminder of humanity in close quarters and the lack of any real privacy that entails. Here, they could do anything and no one would hear.

Eggsy yawns, rubbing his hand lazily across his belly and down towards his hardening cock as he follows that train of thought, thinking about the things Harry could do to him with no one around to hear and no one to interrupt them. He’s still half-asleep and there’s no urgency to it as he strokes himself through the soft fabric of his pyjamas, no desire to end it too soon. He closes his eyes and tries to match Harry’s soft, even breathing as he thinks about Harry bending him over his desk and taking what he’s so far denied. About Harry reaching for him, those large, strong hands settling on his hips, turning him onto his belly, holding him down, about Harry making him kneel under his desk, held tight between Harry’s strong thighs while he opens his mouth for Harry’s cock…

"Really, Eggsy," Harry says mildly. "You might have waited for me." His hand closes around Eggsy’s wrist, stilling his arm.

Eggsy yelps, startled, torn between the mortification of being caught and disbelief that Harry somehow managed to wake up without Eggsy being aware of it. “Fuck,” he manages.

“Enjoying yourself?”

"You were asleep," Eggsy protests, but not with much conviction.

“And now I’m awake.” Harry releases his grip on Eggsy's wrist. His hand slides down Eggsy's body, tugging at the pyjamas so the fabric rubs teasingly against Eggsy’s cock. "I'm almost tempted to keep you waiting again.”

"Fuck off," Eggsy says but that, too, is without heat and he knows Harry feels the lie.

"Oh, but you don't _entirely_ dislike that idea, do you?" Harry sounds amused, but not mocking. "It is tempting but no, not today. Here, roll over.”

"Ngh," Eggsy manages as Harry turns him onto his side, snugging in close behind him. Pinned down, held in place, Eggsy groans as Harry’s hand cups him through the pyjamas. “Wait, let me-”

Harry doesn’t reply, and nor does he give Eggsy the opportunity to kick off his pyjamas before he starts stroking him with a light, almost desultory rhythm. The contrast between the slide of the soft fabric and Harry’s firm grip is maddening. Harry doesn’t quite give him enough friction and the hold Harry has on him means Eggsy can barely move; he’s entirely dependent on whatever Harry chooses to give him. And it’s not nearly enough.

“Harry…” he whines.

“Yes, Eggsy?” Harry’s thumb rubs, all too briefly, around the head of his cock, a touch too light and fleeting to do anything other than raise Eggsy’s frustration level even higher.

“Come on … please…”

Harry takes his hand away completely, laying it flat against Eggsy’s belly instead, and Eggsy would be embarrassed about the anguished sound he makes if he wasn’t so desperate to come. Harry kisses him, a small, chaste kiss to the cheek. “Patience,” he says lightly.

“It’s too fucking early for _patience_ ,” Eggsy grumbles.

“Perhaps you’re right.” Harry shifts closer and Eggsy is suddenly very aware of how hard _Harry_ is, their bodies separated only by two thin layers of cotton. “Let’s not keep you waiting then.”

“You could fuck me,” Eggsy says; reasonably, he thinks.

He feels Harry’s fingers flex against his belly, just for a moment. “Yes,” Harry agrees. “I could.”

“I could suck you off.”

That earns him a slight hitch in Harry’s breathing. “Would you like that?” Harry asks carefully.

“Yeah.” Eggsy groans as Harry’s fingers slide an inch lower. “Yeah, I would. And,” he adds, remembering what Harry had liked before. “You could come on my face, if you wanted.”

Harry mutters something that sounds suspiciously like _god help me_ and, before Eggsy can protest Harry starts stroking him again, no teasing now, just a firm, relentless rhythm. Eggsy’s flailing hand finds a grip on Harry's bicep and he clings to that anchor as the storm of sensation catches him up and sweeps him relentlessly towards the inevitable conclusion. He comes with a desperate, choked-off cry, dimly aware that he must be hurting Harry with how tight he’s holding onto him but unable to let go.

Harry holds him tight through the after-shocks, until Eggsy finally, reluctantly pushes him away, too hot now, and uncomfortably sticky. Harry takes it with good grace, pressing a kiss to Eggsy's forehead before he moves away.

“Fucking hell,” Eggsy says weakly. His flailing hand finds Harry’s arm again but this time he can barely grip onto the sleeve of his pyjamas. His muscles feel like they've been replaced with jelly. “I can’t feel my legs.”

“How's the back today?” Harry asks conversationally.

Eggsy manages to turn his head but he’s having trouble focusing on Harry. “W-what?”

“The back,” Harry repeats. Eggsy can _hear_ the smirk. “I wouldn’t want to think my efforts had gone to waste.”

“Good, yeah,’ Eggsy manages. “Better than yesterday.”

“Excellent. I’m going to have a shower. Unless you want one first?"

The way he says it snaps Eggsy out of his post-orgasm haze. He blinks at Harry. "Um, you go." He doesn't think it's an offer to shower together and he's not sure he has the energy for that anyway. “I can wait.”

Harry looks absurdly pleased by his answer. "Go and put the kettle on, then. When you feel able."

Eggsy rolls his eyes at him, mock-offended, but Harry just smiles.

He does get up once Harry's in the shower, grimacing at the mess he's made of his pyjamas. Which is, he realises belatedly, exactly why Harry was pleased that Eggsy didn't immediately run off to the shower to clean up: Harry wanted him to have the reminder of what happened for a while longer.

Eggsy grins to himself. If Harry wants to play that game, then Eggsy has a few tricks up his sleeve to put them on something like a level playing field.

Twenty minutes later, when Harry comes downstairs, Eggsy is in the dining room. He's had to improvise a little bit with breakfast, because he doesn't know where everything is in Harry's kitchen and there are things in Harry’s cupboards he can’t even identify, but he thinks he's made a pretty good attempt at everything by the way Harry pauses in the doorway, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the table settings, the food, and the fact that Eggsy is still wearing his pyjamas.

"You _have_ been busy, haven't you?" he says, taking a deliberate step into the room. He's wearing a soft charcoal-grey pullover over a white shirt and Eggsy takes a moment to appreciate how much the combination accentuates the other man’s broad shoulders.

“Made you breakfast."

"I can see that." Harry circles the table, halting briefly when he's behind Eggsy. "The shower is free."

Eggsy is acutely aware of Harry’s presence behind him. “I’ll go after breakfast,” he says, keeping his voice as even as he can. “It can wait.”

Harry, when he sits down, is smiling. "Let's get started then. This looks good."

"Not as good as your breakfasts."

"Perhaps I'll have to show you the secret to making a disgustingly unhealthy fried breakfast, one of these days.”

"I'm definitely having a shower before that."

Harry laughs. "Yes, all right. Although I certainly wasn't thinking today. Another time." He butters a slice of toast, eyeing Eggsy with just a hint of mischief. “How much do you want to get out of those pyjamas?”

“A lot,” Eggsy says honestly.

Harry nods, and takes a bite of toast. “And yet you’re here.”

“Yeah, well.” Eggsy can play at acting nonchalant too, though he doesn’t think he pulls off with the same aplomb as Harry. “This is a thing for you, isn't it?"

"Yes," Harry says simply, and this is something that Eggsy is still getting used to with Harry, something that he's never had before with anyone. The simple ease of asking questions, however personal or trivial, and having Harry respond without anger or embarrassment or evasion.

"Why?"

Harry takes a bite of his toast and chews it thoughtfully. He seems to be genuinely thinking it over, rather than making Eggsy wait for an answer just for the sake of it. "I suppose for the same reasons I like most of the things I want to do with you," he says eventually.

"You like telling me what to do,” Eggsy prompts.

"That's one aspect, certainly." Harry frowns and takes a sip of his tea, like he's trying to put his thoughts into a coherent order. Eggsy feels a little bit guilty for waking him up now, that maybe he got Harry out of bed far earlier than he would have chosen on his own. "It's more than that, though. It’s not just about telling you what to do. I’m not sure you’d respond well to me barking orders at you all day anyway.”

“I can do what you tell me to do,” Eggsy says defensively.

“I think you’d tell me to fuck off if that’s all I did.”

Hearing Harry swear is rapidly becoming one of Eggsy's kinks. “You should be used to that by now,” he points out.

Harry smiles mischievously. “Oh, I am.”

“It doesn’t piss you off?”

“Not particularly. As I said, there’s no great pleasure for me in the idea of simply ordering you around and you blindly obeying me.”

"So, what then?" Eggsy pushes. “You like getting me to do things I don't like, right? Not, like, in a bad way, just the stuff I wouldn't want to do unless you make me." He hurries on before Harry can interrupt, because he knows from Harry's expression exactly what the other man is going to say. "And that's ok, you know. I get it. Like I said before, I know I don’t have to take it. I know what to say to make you stop."

"I'd phrase it more as I like to ask you to do things that you wouldn't normally choose to do, but you choose to trust me to do those things," Harry says mildly. His face is less pinched than it was, though; less tense. "I like that you choose to give up a certain amount of control to me and I like watching your reaction to the things I do with you."

"That's a lot of choices, Harry."

"Which is exactly how it should be. I have no desire for a doormat of a partner." Harry starts on his cereal, seemingly unaware of the effect of his word choice on Eggsy.

Eggsy tells himself that Harry doesn't mean _partner_ in that sense, that there’s no particular thought behind it, that he just means it in the sense that they do things together, like-

-like sharing a bed, like having breakfast together, in a weirdly domestic way. Like Harry trusting him in his house on his own. Like Harry caring about him enough to be upset when Eggsy was hurt. There’s already more between them than the casual arrangement Harry had proposed the first time they met, but Eggsy has no idea how Harry sees the situation between them now.

"You going to start letting me get you back then?" he blurts out.

Harry glances up and raises an enquiring eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean, Harry. Not that I'm complaining because your blowjobs are fucking amazing-"

"Very nice of you to say so, Eggsy."

"-but we are not exactly even, are we?"

Harry's eyebrow somehow manages to defy both the laws of physics and anatomical possibility to go even higher. "Are you _keeping score_?"

"I'm saying it's not fair, that's all."

Harry takes another sip of tea before he responds. "While it's very kind of you to be concerned for my, ah, physical pleasure,” he says carefully. “Believe me when I say that I'm perfectly happy with the situation."

"I'm fucking not! Unless-" Eggsy stops, overcome by a sudden fear that he's said something incredibly tactless. "You've not- there's nothing wrong with you, is there?"

Harry looks like he's torn between laughter and burying his head in his hands. "No, Eggsy,” he says with deliberate patience. “Everything works as it should, despite my advancing years."

"That's not what I-"

"I know. And don't feel you must apologise," Harry adds as Eggsy starts to speak. "I'm very conscious that many of the things we do are new to you, and I don't want to push you too far, too quickly. It's not fair to either of us."

Eggsy flushes. "I'm not some blushing virgin, Harry."

"I know you're not. But, virgin or not, you must understand that, in certain situations, it might be very difficult for you to say no to me, or to distinguish between things you really don't want to do and things you don't _want_ to do but want me to _make_ you do. Does that make sense?"

With anyone else, Eggsy would probably have stormed off by now. "Certain situations?" he asks warily.

"You asked me what I like, but I think the more important question here is what _you_ like. You like submitting to me. You like pleasing me, even if there's no direct benefit to yourself."

“Like last night? All the knives and forks?”

“Exactly like that. You enjoyed it, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Eggsy admits. It _had_ been intensely satisfying to do something - even something entirely non-sexual - just because Harry had told him to do it. To know that he’d done something that pleased Harry.

“Do you see the danger there? You want to please me so very badly, in the right frame of mind, and that might lead you to agree to something you wouldn’t necessarily agree to otherwise. And that's why I'm trying to be careful, for both our sakes.”

“Yeah, I see that” Eggsy says, somewhat unwillingly. What Harry is saying does make sense but he still feels vaguely insulted that Harry is being _careful_ of him, like Eggsy can’t handle anything Harry throws at him. “I trust you though.”

“I don’t always trust myself,” Harry says bluntly. “I’ve been careless with you before-”

“I don’t care about tha-” Eggsy interrupts.

“ _I_ care. When we-  when this started, I didn't think it would go any further than me tying you up every now and then, if you were amenable."

"Which I am.”

“Which you are. And it has … gone further.”

“So you want to fuck me, right?"

Harry sighs, but in that way that Eggsy has long since learnt means he's more amused than annoyed. "Yes, Eggsy; I want to fuck you. But not now," he adds, before Eggsy can even open his mouth. “Not today. Finish your breakfast, and let me finish mine, please. Some of us aren't at our best in the morning.”

“I dunno, Harry; you're looking pretty good to me.”

Harry frowns but Eggsy doesn't miss the flicker of a smile, nor the way Harry’s hand discreetly adjusts the fall of his sweater.

Eggsy thinks about their conversation later, when he’s in the shower, scrubbing dried cum from his skin. He thinks about Harry tying him up, about being blind and deaf and unable to do much besides react to Harry’s touch. He’d wanted more, so much more - for Harry to use him, for Harry to fuck him. He’d wanted Harry’s cock in his mouth so badly when he was kneeling for him that at that moment in time he’d have let Harry do _anything_ to him. And this morning, too, he’d have let Harry take whatever he wanted, wherever he wanted. He’d have given Harry everything.

Eggsy pulls a rueful face: maybe Harry has a point. And Harry’s right that this is all new to him, though he prides himself on being a quick learner. He can’t help wondering what Harry would to do to him if he could, if he had no reservations about Eggsy’s ability to deal with whatever Harry chose to give him.

Eggsy studiously avoids following that train of thought, although he doesn’t think Harry would be cruel enough to turn the water to freezing cold again. He finishes his shower and gets dressed, oddly proud of himself for resisting the temptation to knock one off in the shower even if he chooses not to think too deeply about the reasons for it.

Harry is in the kitchen when he goes back downstairs, contemplating the wall while the kettle boils. Eggsy is about to ask him what he’s up to when he notices the handcuffs lying on the countertop.

“So,” Harry says conversationally, not looking round. “I thought I’d teach you how to get out of these.”

***

It’s lunchtime when Eggsy leaves Harry’s house, tired and sore and in possession of a whole new skill set and a distinct sense of satisfaction. Harry is trying and failing not to look proud when he sees Eggsy off, and Eggsy has to try very hard not to grin at him in return.

“Here,” Harry says, handing Eggsy a business card.

Eggsy squints at it but there’s nothing obvious that tells him what it’s for. It’s just an address and a telephone number and a strange symbol he doesn’t recognise. “What’s this?”

“I want you to go there, this afternoon. Tell them Harry Hart sent you. It’s nothing bad,” he adds, almost as an afterthought. “Just something to help with your flexibility.” Then, “Just try it, Eggsy. Go today, and if you don’t like it you don’t have to go again. Call it selfish on my part, if you like.”

“‘Cos you want to do stuff to me, right?”

“Because I don’t want you to suffer any more than necessary when I _do stuff_ with you,” Harry says, with just a hint of a smirk.

Eggsy pockets the card. He knows he’s going to go, because Harry wants him to, whatever weird shit it involves. “Sorry for all the, y’know, questions this morning,” he says awkwardly.

“That’s all right.” Harry looks genuinely taken aback by the apology. “You can ask whatever you like. Just don’t be offended if I have to think about the answer.”

Eggsy nods. "Thanks again for the phone," he says awkwardly, embarrassed at having nearly forgotten about the gift tucked in his pocket.

Harry kisses him, a gentle kiss that tastes of the orange juice he'd drunk after breakfast.

"Happy early birthday."

Something about the way he says it makes Eggsy pause. He steps back, putting space between them so Harry can't distract him with another kiss.

"You're going away again, aren't you?"

"Yes."

Eggsy swallows. It's hard to read Harry's expression, and Harry isn't giving him much to work with. "How long?"

"I'm not sure. Perhaps a few weeks, perhaps longer. Hence I wanted to make sure you had your present, before I left."

"Ok." It's not a dismissal, he doesn't think. Harry had no reason to spend hundreds of pounds on him if he was never going to see him again, and the things he'd said over breakfast didn't sound like he's tired of Eggsy, but-

Harry abruptly tugs him close again, his hand fisted in Eggsy's jacket. "While I'm away," he says, very softly, his mouth so close to Eggsy's ear that Eggsy can feel the whisper of his breath against his skin, "perhaps you could think about what you'd like to do - or have me do to you - when I return."

And just like that he's hard again, just as Harry releases his hold on him. "Fucking hell, Harry," he complains.

"Off you go, Eggsy," Harry says, smirking. He steps back and starts to close the door.

"Twat."

Eggsy's fairly sure he hears Harry laughing before the door shuts and then it's just him standing in front of Harry’s house with a hard-on and a lingering desire to hammer on the door and beg Harry to let him stay.

He sighs resignedly. The mews is deserted but there are plenty of people walking along the main road and his jacket isn't long enough to hide anything. Eggsy shuffles halfway down the mews, to the semi-shelter of a potted bay tree outside one of Harry's neighbours, and rings his mum, on the basis that that’s going to kill off an inconvenient erection quicker than anything. She doesn't pick up for a while, just long enough for Eggsy to start getting nervous, but she sounds fine when she eventually answers.

"I'm fine, mum. No, I'll be back in a bit." He's looking around as he answers the first round of questions. He can hear Daisy babbling in the background and it makes him smile. His new phone sounds so much clearer than his old one.

"Get some milk, please. And Eggsy..."

Eggsy tenses up as he hears the change in her voice. He knows what that means. "What?" He asks warily.

"Go to the hospital, will you? He-"

"Mum, I'm not visiting him," Eggsy interrupts, nauseated at the mere thought of seeing Dean. He has no desire to run errands for the man either. "They're not going to let him smoke on the ward."

"Just do it, Eggsy, please." Eggsy hates that tone; he'd do anything to not hear it in her voice. When Dean tells her to do something there's usually an implied threat behind it. "I'd go but the boiler's gone again and I have to wait in or we'll have no hot water and-"

"I'll go," Eggsy interrupts. "Don't worry about it; I'll go."

"Just get him the usual. He's still in a lot of pain, you know."

_Good_ , Eggsy thinks viciously. He wants to find that taxi driver and buy him a drink. “He’s fine, mum.”

“The doctor said he’s lucky it wasn’t worse, the speed that taxi hit him. Where are you, Eggsy? You got a new girlfriend? Is it that blonde girl who’s moved in next to Julie?”

Eggsy glances back at Harry’s house. He can just imagine his mum’s reaction to the truth. _No, mum, no girlfriend. But there_ _’s this older guy who lives in fucking Kensington, right, and I let him tie me up and do kinky shit to me and buy me stuff._ _I think I might be in love with the way he says my name and his dead butterfly collection._

No, Eggsy knows, there are no circumstances under which his mum would be ok with the situation: Dean would probably just be pissed off that Eggsy isn’t getting money from Harry any more. Either way, he’s determined to keep Harry a secret just for himself.

“I’m going to the hospital,” he says, interrupting his mum’s speculative run-through of every female under fifty on the estate. “You want anything else?”

“Eggsy…”

“Sorry, mum, connection’s really bad.” He feels a tiny bit guilty about cutting her off but the alternative is lying to her about his non-existent girlfriend. “Gotta go.”

If nothing else, any hint of arousal is long gone.

Eggsy has an aversion to hospitals, fuelled by a run of childhood A&E visits in the years before Dean learnt exactly where and how hard he could hit to leave no damage that might need medical attention and he can’t help tensing up as he enters the main reception and gets a lungful of hospital air and a wary sizing-up from the security guard by the door. Eggsy shoves his hands in his pockets and keeps walking, so focused on keeping his head down that he nearly walks right into someone when the doors of the lift open at the floor Dean is on.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

“My fault,” the man says civilly. Eggsy double-takes; he thinks it’s Alistair for a second, before he gets a better look. He shakes his head and keeps walking.

Dean is at the very end of the corridor, in a bay by himself. The lights are very bright and the window has a view of a flat roof and a wall and Dean looks…

…smaller, somehow. Reduced. Faintly ridiculous, in a hospital gown and his leg in traction. Under the harsh, unforgiving lighting he looks older too, his skin mottled and grey. For the first time since he was a kid, Eggsy isn’t afraid of him.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Dean grunts when he notices Eggsy.

Eggsy pulls the vodka miniature and cigarettes he’d bought on the way out of his pocket, making sure to stand as far as he can from the bed as he hands them over.

“I said Stella,” Dean says sulkily, and Eggsy thinks there’s something weird about the way he says it, like Dean wants to go off on him but is holding himself back.

“Didn’t have any.”

“And you’re not having that either.” The nurse plucks the bottle out of Dean’s hand with a look that dares him to protest and, to Eggsy’s shock, the man doesn’t. Eggsy’s impressed at her stealth: he hadn’t even heard her come in. “No alcohol, and no smoking either.” She glances at Eggsy. “Visiting hours are nearly over.”

“I was going anyway.” Eggsy very carefully doesn’t look at Dean. The man’s probably close to boiling over. “Got some things to get for my mum.”

“Off you go then,” she says sharply.

Eggsy goes, and he doesn’t stop until he’s standing on the pavement outside the main entrance, gulping down a lungful of air that doesn’t smell of antiseptic, giddy with relief and unexpected freedom. He tucks his hands in his pockets, and his fingers close around the card Harry had given him.

_Might as well_ , he thinks. He looks up the address on his new phone. There’s something nagging at him about that, something he meant to ask Harry, but he can’t remember what it was. Seeing that the place Harry wants him to go to is only a quarter of an hour away, he starts walking.

It’s a gym. Small, discreetly tucked-away in a side street, and almost certainly extremely expensive in a way that doesn’t advertise just how expensive it is. Eggsy approaches the front desk apprehensively, feeling very much out of place in a room where the _light fittings_ probably cost more than everything he owns put together, but the smile the woman on the desk gives him is surprisingly friendly.

“Can I help you?” she says brightly. She’s wearing a cream tunic as spotless and crisply-ironed as one of Harry’s shirts.

“Harry Hart sent me,” Eggsy says awkwardly.

“Oh yes, of course.” She taps away at a keyboard. “Mr … Unwin?”

“Yeah, that’s me. Gary Unwin.”

Another beaming smile. A sheaf of paperwork and a pen are passed across the desk to him. “Do you want to take a seat and start filling those in? It’s just a basic health questionnaire, before you start the programme.”

“Pro- what?”

“Your trainer will discuss it with you properly, but it’s an eight-week training programme focusing on core strength, flexibility, and stamina. There’s an initial assessment today, and your trainer will help you build on that.”

“Trainer,” Eggsy repeats numbly. _What the fuck, Harry_. He stumbles to one of the chairs arranged artfully around the lobby area and sinks into it, pulling out his phone as he does so.

_How much does this gym cost?_ he sends to Harry.

The answer comes back in less than a minute.

_Don_ _’t worry about that._

Eggsy frowns. _You can_ _’t buy me_ , he points out. 

Harry's response comes back even quicker than before. _My motives are entirely selfish, I assure you._

Eggsy glances at the stack of forms waiting for him to fill in and sighs.

_I_ _’m going to get you back for this,_ he types.

The reply takes a little longer this time, long enough that Eggsy gets the first three pages of the health questionnaire completed and is well into the tick-box list of allergies and food intolerances before his phone goes off again.

_I do hope so_.

Not for the first time, Eggsy finds himself cursing Harry Hart.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Harry away, Eggsy is left to his own devices. After an unexpected meeting, he comes to some conclusions about what's been going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roxy! *coughs* 
> 
> Yes, Roxy makes her appearance in this chapter (can you tell I love Roxy?)

Eggsy misses Harry more than he ever thought he would. At first it doesn’t feel too bad; it's almost an adventure to throw himself into the training programme his trainer – Ellie – devises, a challenge he's very ready to accept. Eggsy has always thought of himself as reasonably fit but he rapidly discovers there's plenty of room for improvement during the first gruelling hour-long session and the others that follow.

"I'm not going in for the Olympics," he complains as she sticks sensors for a heart monitor on his chest during their second session together.

"Probably for the best," she says unsympathetically. "Think you can run for 15 minutes on the treadmill?"

Eggsy thinks she must share some DNA with Harry, the way she waits for him to agree before she smiles and cranks the treadmill up to the maximum incline.

He curses her a lot in the first couple of weeks – mostly in his head, because his mum brought him up better than that – but despite the pain and aggravation he has to admit that the training programme from hell is working. He's developing muscles he didn't know he had and running further and faster every time he gets on the treadmill. He hasn’t been swimming since he was at school but he rediscovers his love of it in the subterranean pool, alternating fast laps and lazy sculling with only his thoughts for company because Harry’s money buys exclusivity and he only rarely sees anyone other than staff.

He asks Ellie about it once, when they’re taking a break after a session on the elliptical trainers.

“You’re not here all the time,” she points out.

“How many people come here then?”

“Enough.” And that’s the end of that.

He’s already tried asking her about Harry, only to run up against the same wall of silence. She - and the rest of the staff - are happy to discuss his training programme, the weather, what was on tv last night, and the provision of workout gear that was almost certainly paid for by Harry along with everything else, but they won’t give up the tiniest shred of information about Harry, not even whether he’s a client of the gym himself. It’s infuriating; Eggsy was hoping for at least some small nugget he could tease Harry about later.

The third week Harry is gone, Dean comes home and the atmosphere in the flat darkens at once. All the time he’s been in hospital has felt like a reprieve, a chance for things to be normal, however fleetingly. But now he’s back, in a storm of sullen glares and orders hissed at Eggsy’s mum and the acrid stench of old sweat and knock-off aftershave seeping into every corner of the flat, and Eggsy starts going out running even when he doesn’t need to just to get out of the way. He lies in bed at night listening to Dean complaining about Daisy’s cot in the living room and how things would be so much easier if Eggsy just moved out, and it’s the same litany he’s been hearing for years and should be able to tune out, but every time Dean speaks Eggsy thinks about the night Dean beat him, the night he ran to Harry. He’s very conscious that he doesn’t have that safety net any more, that Harry won’t be there for him. That maybe Harry never will be again, if he decides that Eggsy just isn’t worth the effort.

It was a million to one chance that he and Harry even met in the first place, a convergence of paths that should never have come about.

When his phone lights up one evening, Harry’s name on the screen, Eggsy nearly tumbles out of bed in his haste to grab it.

“I hope I didn’t wake you up,” Harry begins, and _fuck_ Eggsy’s missed him.

“It’s ten o’clock.” No need for Harry to know that he’s been lying in the darkness for well over an hour, just staring up at the ceiling. “Thought you’d forgotten me.”

“Never,” Harry says with unexpected vehemence. Then, in something more like his usual tone, “I take it you didn’t feel like going out tonight.”

“No.” Eggsy leans his head back against the wall. “Where are you, anyway?”

“Vienna,” Harry says, after a brief pause. “Pacing my hotel room.”

“And you thought you’d ring me? What’s Vienna like, anyway?”

“I wanted to see how your training programme was going.”

Eggsy frowns at Harry avoiding the question but lets it go. “Fucking torture. It’s not funny,” he adds, as Harry laughs softly. “I could be doing some serious permanent damage to myself here.”

“I doubt it,” Harry says, sounding amused. “They’re very good at that gym.”

“Yeah, well, it’s getting difficult thinking up reasons why I need to fuck off every other day, you get me?”

“I doubt your stepfather minds you being out of the way,” Harry says.

Eggsy frowns again, wondering briefly how Harry knows Dean is out of hospital. Then again, Harry’s been away for three weeks; it’s a reasonable guess that Dean would be home. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “He’s mostly ignoring me at the moment.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“You coming back any time soon?”

Harry sighs. “Not for a while, I’m afraid. I’m likely going to miss your birthday.”

“Oh.” And Eggsy had suspected as much and it’s _ridiculous_ to care whether Harry is going to be there or not but all the same he feels a tiny bit bereft.

“How’s the phone?”

“Good, yeah. Camera’s much better than my old phone, and the wifi actually works.”

“Good.” There’s a very brief pause before Harry adds, “Have you been thinking about what you’d like me to do to you when I get back?”

“Fuck,” Eggsy says involuntarily.

“That too.” There’s a faint clicking sound Eggsy can’t quite place, metal on metal. “Don’t be afraid to do some research.”

“Oh, I’ve done _research_ ,” Eggsy says darkly. “When I’m not recovering from a ten-mile run at 5am.”

“I can only imagine.” Again he hears the clicking sound in the background. Eggsy’s fairly sure it’s not a keyboard; it’s definitely metallic and not sustained enough to be typing. “I look forward to discussing it when I get home.”

“You gonna take me out to dinner, Harry?”

“Believe me, Eggsy,” Harry says dryly. “The things I want to do with you are not suitable for public consumption. Perhaps we’ll get takeaway.”

Eggsy laughs; it’s been too long since he last talked to Harry, too long since they had this easy back and forth between them. “Yeah, ok.” He presses the heel of his free hand to his crotch, just applying pressure for now. “Had a lot of time to think about it, when I’m floating around in that pool.”

“Nice, isn’t it?” And that confirms Eggsy’s suspicions about Harry’s use of the same gym. “Very secluded.”

“Do you reckon they have the same rules as normal pools? No running, no petting, that sort of thing?”

“What sort of thing did you have in mind?” Harry sounds amused, and a little bit curious.

“Maybe some heavy petting. Nothing too dangerous. Don’t want you drowning.”

“Very considerate of you.” The sound muffles for a moment, like Harry is changing the phone to his other hand.

An unwelcome thought crosses Eggsy’s mind, one that takes a little of the lustre off his fantasy. “Would you get in trouble for it? If we- if we were doing stuff we shouldn’t be doing in the pool. Don’t want you getting kicked out or nothing.”

Harry makes a sound Eggsy can’t quite interpret; it might be laughter or exasperation or a combination of the two. “I don’t think it would go that far. They might send me a strongly-worded letter. But in the circumstances, I think it would be worth it.”

"Yeah?" Eggsy has given up any pretence of not touching himself; if he closes his eyes and focuses on Harry's voice he can pretend that Harry is here. "What're you going to do with me, Harry?"

"I seem to remember something about getting me back," Harry says with far more composure than Eggsy thinks he could manage, even though Eggsy is pretty sure Harry is also jerking off.

"Fuck yeah," Eggsy breathes.

"I've been thinking about it too, you know. What we did before. You on your knees, desperate for my cock in your mouth."

"Yeah." Eggsy's never seen the appeal of phone sex before but the way Harry speaks, the low, slightly ragged tone of his voice, is almost - almost - as good as having Harry here in person rather than a thousand miles away. He tries to picture what Harry must look like; leaning back in his hotel bed, perhaps, still dressed in one of his perfectly-fitted suits. "Yeah, I want it."

"I know you do. I'll tie your hands and have you kneel for me, and I'll give you what you want."

Eggsy stifles a moan. "Please," he says. “I want that, yeah.” Inspired, he adds, "In your study, you at your desk, me under it. And you-” His voice breaks for a moment. “You holding me so I can’t move, so I just have to take it.”

There's a small pause before Harry replies, a pause long enough for Eggsy to think that he's said something wrong, but then Harry swears, like he's close, and Eggsy is too, and in Eggsy's mind the fantasy takes hold and soars free in glorious Technicolour and sensation so vivid he could almost believe it to be true. He feels Harry's hand in his hair, the weight of Harry's cock on his tongue, the firm press of Harry's knees holding him in place.

"Eggsy, fuck..." Harry groans, and that's it, that's the thing that tips Eggsy over the edge, and he lets the phone drop as he frantically bites down on his free hand, muffling the cries that might attract unwanted attention.

It takes him a minute or two to get his breath back, another half a minute to find his phone again. It's still connected, to his relief.

"Harry?"

"Yes," Harry says, and he sounds almost like his usual assured self again, if Eggsy doesn't listen too carefully. Eggsy grins to himself. Maybe he isn’t the only one who’s been feeling their separation keenly.

"Do you need to get your suit cleaned?"

There's a moment of silence. "You little shit," Harry says eventually. Fondly. "Yes. Damn you."

"You're welcome."

Harry snorts. He sounds more relaxed now, more at ease than he was at first. "It's late here, and I should go to bed - and I have an early start in the morning - but thank you for some lovely mental images, Eggsy."

"Ok." Eggsy doesn't want him to hang up, doesn't want it to be another three weeks before he gets to speak to Harry again. "Will, will you ring me again before you get back? Can I ring you?" He doesn’t want to sound too needy but equally he doesn’t want to go weeks without speaking to Harry again.

"You can ring me whenever you like," Harry says sharply. "I may not always be able to respond, but you can ring me. Leave me a message if it's urgent, or send me a text. Even if I don’t get back to you straightaway, I will when I can." His voice softens as he adds, "I'll ring you when I'm coming home, anyway."

“Yeah, ok, thanks Harry.” Relief that Harry hasn’t shot him down for being too demanding rolls into the post-orgasm lull, reminding him suddenly how tired he is, not having slept well since Dean came home. “Night.”

“Good night, Eggsy.”

*

 Eggsy is jogging past the Tower of London, dodging the pigeons and the tourists, when he sees them up ahead. He's two miles into today's five mile run but after six weeks of intensive training he's barely breaking sweat and his mind is clear. He'd recognise that profile anywhere.

 He slows down a little, not wanting to overtake them. It gives him the opportunity to watch them, to see how the woman laughs at something the man says to her, to see his arm slung casually around her. As they cut alongside Tower Pier he loses sight of them for a moment, distracted by a gaggle of schoolchildren, and when he looks back he can only see the woman, walking up the hill  towards the entrance to the Tower.

 Eggsy swears under his breath, quickening his pace as he scans the milling crowd for any sign of his quarry. A movement in his peripheral vision draws his attention and he quickly heads towards the coffee stand he thinks he saw someone slip behind. He's so intent on his purpose that he doesn't see the man coming up behind him until he's abruptly grabbed and pushed behind the stand, his arm twisted up behind his back.

 "Really, Eggsy," James says mildly. "If you wanted a chat you could have just said hello."

 He lets go of Eggsy as quickly as he'd grabbed him and Eggsy takes a quick step back, rubbing his arm. James has the same unexpected strength that Harry has.

 "I'm just out for a run," he says.

 "If you say so." James looks entirely unruffled by their confrontation. "Ah, there you are." The last is addressed to the woman, who has also managed to appear without Eggsy noticing. She's younger than he thought, probably not much older than him, and she's eyeing him with open curiosity.

 "A friend of yours?" she asks.

 "Of Harry's," James says briefly. He doesn't seem particularly concerned about Eggsy catching him with whatever the woman is to him.

 She looks Eggsy up and down, an eyebrow raised, before offering her hand with the easy confidence of someone born into money and privilege. "I'm Roxy."

 "Eggsy." The whole situation is surreal, and shaking hands with her is the least strange thing he can do.

 "Nice to meet you, Eggsy." She sounds surprisingly sincere. "I'm going to have to leave you, I'm afraid. I'm late already." She glances at James. "Try not to cause too much trouble."

 "As if I would," James says, looking offended.

“Oh, I know you would.” She smiles at Eggsy as she speaks, drawing him into their orbit as if they’re old friends.

“Outrageous slander.” James leans down so she can kiss him on the cheek. “I’m very well-behaved.”

 "You’ve never been well-behaved in your life. I'll see you at home later,” she tells him severely. “Goodbye, Eggsy; it was lovely to meet you.”

 "Shall we get coffee?" James says into the awkward silence that follows her departure.

 Ten minutes later, Eggsy finds himself sitting opposite James at a corner table in Starbucks, looking out over the plaza and the tourists queueing to get into the Tower. James looks entirely at ease with the situation, as if he is unaware of the jarring contrast of his expensive suit and Eggsy’s running gear. Eggsy surreptitiously studies the other man, trying to gauge his mood and intentions, but James is hard to read.

“So,” he begins, and then stops, because he has no idea what to say. “Roxy’s nice,” he settles on.

James doesn’t respond at once. He stirs his coffee, seemingly intent on what he’s doing. "How are you, Eggsy?" he says after a minute or two.

 "Good," Eggsy says automatically. "Look, I wasn't-"

 "Following me? Oh, you were." The smile that flickers briefly across James' face takes the sting from his words. "Reflective surfaces are never your friend when you're following someone. I tell you this so you know it for next time. Shop windows are the worst but any sort of advertising board can catch you out."

 "I'll try to remember that."

 "Harry says you're a quick learner." It's said blandly, without insinuation, but Eggsy can still feel himself flushing.

 "Roxy. Bit young for you, ain't she?"

 James, to Eggsy's annoyance, just laughs. "I'm afraid you've jumped to the wrong conclusion there,” he says lightly. “Roxy isn't my girlfriend; she's my daughter."

 "Your- oh."

"She terrifies me," James says with the air of one confiding a deep secret. "And I exasperate her, endlessly. Probably be running the country by the time she's forty. How are you doing since Harry left on his little jaunt?"

"I- fine." Thrown by the sudden change of topic, Eggsy struggles to think of an answer. "Harry's got me going to the gym."

"Has he now." Eggsy almost but not quite misses the flicker of interest that flits momentarily across James' face. "Putting you through your paces?"

"Feels like I'm training for the Olympics."

“I see.” What, exactly, he _sees_ is left hanging. James takes a sip of his coffee and pulls a face.

“Do you know when he’s coming back?”

James doesn’t bother asking who Eggsy means. “What did he say to you?”

“That he’d be gone for a while. It’s been _six weeks_.” Eggsy hates the whining tone that slips into his voice on the last words. He misses Harry - and the lack of any contact from Harry - badly. “Has he rung you?”

“Harry’s often out of contact for weeks,” James says easily. “I wouldn’t take it personally.”

“It’s been three weeks since he rang me and he hasn’t replied to my texts.”

This time the flicker of interest is more noticeable. “Harry _rang_ you?”

“Yeah.” There’s no way Eggsy is going to tell James exactly what their discussion had consisted of so he simply says, “He said he was in Vienna.”

“He was.” James takes another sip of coffee and stares at Eggsy, the warmth in his eyes replaced by something colder, harder. Something that makes the hairs on the back of Eggsy’s neck stand up. “Have you discussed that with anyone else?”

“What?”

“Have you,” James repeats, enunciating very precisely, “discussed that with anyone else? Friends, for example. Family.”

Eggsy debates pointing out that he’s hardly likely to discuss Harry with _anyone_ he knows, let alone his friends and family, but he settles for a straightforward, “No”. He has no idea how much James knows about Harry’s _interests_ and he doesn’t want to embarrass Harry by telling his friends things he’d rather keep private.

“Good,” James says coolly. “I’d keep it that way, if I were you.”

“Are you _threatening_ me?” Eggsy asks disbelievingly.

“No. Would you like me to?”

“You are fucking mental, bruv.” Eggsy starts to get to his feet. “Don’t know what game you’re playing but I ain’t here for it.”

“Sit _down_ , Eggsy.”

“I don’t take orders from you,” Eggsy snaps. In his peripheral vision he sees a few people turn to look at him and it occurs to him that this probably looks like exactly what it isn’t.

“Eggsy,” James says, more softly. “We both have Harry’s best interests at heart. Sit down. Please.”

Somewhat unwillingly, Eggsy complies, arms folded across his chest. “I’m listening.” James gestures at Eggsy’s cup; Eggsy shakes his head sharply. “So what now? What do you want?”

“I probably approached that in the wrong way,” James says with a disarmingly rueful smile. “The truth is, Eggsy, you caught me a little by surprise.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I’ve known Harry for a long time and he’s-” James stops.

“What?” Eggsy feels suddenly defensive of Harry.

“Self-sufficient.” James stops again, waiting for Eggsy’s reaction. When Eggsy doesn’t speak, he adds, “And you and him-”

“I’m not his type, you mean,” Eggsy says bullishly.

“Oh, you’re _exactly_ his type.” This time James’ smile is more of a smirk. “Stubborn. Wilful. And blond,” he adds as an afterthought. “He’s always had a thing for blonds.”

“Fuck you.” It’s borne out of embarrassment, more than anything else.

“Thank you for proving my point. You’re quite attractive when you’re indignant, by the way.” James sips his coffee, regarding Eggsy with a mischievous glint in his eyes: Eggsy folds his arms tighter and glares.

“Whatever you’ve got to say to me, you say it.”

“So determined, aren’t you? I can see why Harry likes you. And you’re not _my_ type, before you start along that line of thought.” He leans forward, his face suddenly serious and intent but not cold as it was before. “When Harry wants something he wants it - right now he wants you, and I think you want him too.”

There’s real concern there - and Eggsy doesn’t know what to make of it. “Right now?” he croaks.

“Don’t get me wrong; Harry doesn’t play around. And you mean something to him. Perhaps a lot to him. And you should understand, Eggsy, that that is _dangerous_.”

Eggsy mentally circles that word, and compares it to what James said about Eggsy telling people where Harry is. He thinks of the gun, too, and Harry’s money, so casually spent. “Why’s he in Vienna?” he says. “Is he dealing or-”

“No,” James says, looking pained. “No, not that.”

“What then?”

“He’s on business. And he’s told you things I don’t think he’s told anyone in twenty years and, as his friend, that concerns me, Eggsy. I saw his face that night you arrived at his door looking like you’d done a few rounds in the ring. It’s been a long time since I last saw Harry like that.”

Realisation hits like a dash of cold water and Eggsy would laugh in the other man’s face if it wasn’t so insulting. “You think I’d hurt him?”

“Perhaps without meaning to,” James says levelly. “Just as I think he might hurt you. Without meaning to.”

Eggsy shakes his head. “No. Fuck, no.” He gets to his feet, and this time James doesn’t stop him. If anything, the other man looks a little sad. “You’re his friend, yeah?”

“Always.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Eggsy says cuttingly. “I won’t hurt him, and I can look after myself. You want to tell him I’m _dangerous_ , you tell him yourself.”

“Been there, done that,” James says in a lazy drawl, restored to his usual demeanour as if their conversation had never happened. He sets his coffee aside and stands up too. “I don’t say that to be cruel, Eggsy. I simply want you to be aware that it is never going to be _easy_ to be with Harry, and no one - including Harry, I suspect - would blame you for simply deciding to walk away.”

“It’s worth it,” Eggsy says defiantly, and as he says the words he feels the truth of them. It is worth it: _Harry_ is worth it.

“Let’s hope so, for both your sakes. Come on.” James motions Eggsy to go in front of him and the two of them head towards the door; clearly, their conversation is at an end as far as he’s concerned, although from Eggsy’s perspective he’s been left with more questions than he had before and a sense of lingering unease.

The plaza is busier than it was when they went inside, the mass of tourists now joined by the first rush of the evening commute. Everything looks normal but Eggsy is suddenly on alert for no reason he can put his finger on, the same sixth sense that’s kept him alive all these years. James steers him without actually touching him, up the hill towards the main road, with what seems like unseemly haste. 

“Can I get you a taxi?”

Eggsy tugs meaningfully on the sleeve of his t shirt. “Got another three miles yet.”

“Are you sure?” There’s a taxi at the kerb, although Eggsy didn’t see James hailing it. It makes him think about Harry, and the security of Harry’s embrace.

“Gotta get the miles in. But thanks.”

James gives him a smile, small but genuine. “You’re welcome. And Eggsy…”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll look forward to seeing you again. When Harry’s back. Look after yourself.”

The taxi pulls away, and is quickly lost in the traffic. Eggsy has a sudden and very strong desire to get away from this place and the mass of people and he starts to run, pacing himself as he follows the line of the river, across London Bridge and down the A3. He’s running on instinct, no particular destination in mind. He cuts down side streets, across parks, time measured in nothing more than the pounding of his heart and the steady rhythm of his feet hitting the pavements.

He slows to a walk when he comes to the river again. The light is fading rapidly as he crosses Lambeth Bridge, but the green LED of his pedometer tells him he hasn’t quite done his five miles yet. He starts running again at the other side of the bridge; he’s tired now, his legs aching with the effort as he pounds along Millbank, obsessively checking the small display over and over again. When it finally ticks over to five miles, the relief is sublime. He collapses onto the steps of a house and tries to get his breath back.

The sun has almost set and the streets are starting to empty. Cyclists whizz past him on the Superhighway; the driver of a white van cuts up and starts yelling at a car. It’s … normal. Everyday. Eggsy feels annoyed at himself now, that he’d let his imagination get the better of him and respond to a threat that wasn’t there. That he’d assumed all kinds of things about Harry, when there’s probably an easy and straightforward explanation. He reaches into his pocket for his Oyster card, intending to get to his feet and head for home, when he glances across the road and sees her.

Another five minutes either way and their paths wouldn’t have converged again. Roxy doesn’t see him. She has her phone in her hand, squinting at the screen as she walks along the pavement next to the river. She’s walking quickly, determinedly, oblivious to Eggsy’s scrutiny. Behind her, across the river, a building rises into the cloudless sky, glowing green and gold: an epiphany in the setting sun.

Eggsy chokes out a laugh. It all makes sense now - the frequent absences, the gun stashed in the wall, the way Harry fights, all of it. _Dangerous_ , James had said. Eggsy understands, now, what he really meant.

_He_ _’s a spy. Harry’s a fucking spy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The building mentioned at the end is, of course, the iconic MI6 building on the Albert Embankment (as seen in James Bond).
> 
> And yes, Eggsy has jumped to the wrong conclusion but I think it's understandable, in the circumstances ;)


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's been gone for nine weeks. Eggsy can get on with life without him, except when he can't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to warn for minor situational mention/suggestion of potential attempted non-con here (involving an OFC, not involving either Eggsy or Harry). It's very brief and it's ambiguous whether it would have gone any further.

It was Ryan's sister Karen who wanted to come out, for reasons Eggsy wasn't exactly listening to, and since Dean had given him twenty quid and told him to fuck off for the evening - with more of a snarl and less of an explicit threat than usual - Eggsy was happy enough to fall in with the group. One of her friends suggests the Queen's Head, which is near enough to be easy to walk to and far enough to be well out of Dean's way, and half an hour later Eggsy is sitting with a pint in his hand, trying not to grin as Jamal clumsily chats up one of Ryan's sister's mates.

The pub is busy, the beer is good, and Eggsy is content to let the conversation wash over him. Another of Karen's friends makes a half-hearted attempt to chat him up, before Ryan elbows her and says:

"Don't bother. He's taken."

That brings Eggsy up short because, while he knew his friends had some idea of what was going on, it hadn’t occurred to him that they’d leap to the obvious, logical conclusion. Something of the shock must show on his face because Ryan laughs and punches his arm.

"What, you think we didn't know?"

"And your mum's been asking everyone about your new girlfriend," Karen supplies.

"Fuck off," Eggsy groans. 

"Hand on heart; she thinks there's a reason you're not telling her."

"Is it an older woman, Eggsy? Like, much older?" 

"Eggsy's into grannies now."

"Come on, who is it?"

"Do we know her?"

"Doesn't have to be a her," Karen says suddenly, like it's just occurred to her. "You got a boyfriend, Eggsy?"

It's getting uncomfortably close to the truth, a truth Eggsy definitely doesn't want to talk about in present company, so he drains the last of his pint and pushes his chair back. 

"I'm going for a piss." He looks pointedly at Ryan and adds, "Your round, yeah?"

It’s a relief to get out of the noise of the bar, at least temporarily, and away from questions that turn his thoughts, inevitably, to Harry. Who he hasn’t seen for nine weeks, and hasn’t heard from for six. Not a single text, let alone another phone call. Eggsy goes between feeling frantically worried about the other man, and angry at the complete lack of contact. He hasn’t seen James again either, nor Roxy, even though he’s spent an inordinate amount of time in the last couple of weeks running along the banks of the Thames in the hope of seeing either of them. 

Eggsy pulls a rueful face at his own reflection as he washes his hands. _What the fuck have you done to me, Harry_ , he thinks. _Turned me into a fucking stalker_. Knowing that his behaviour is stupid doesn't make it any easier to deal with Harry's absence though. He’d come out tonight because it was better than sitting in his bedroom or wandering the streets on his own but being around other people isn’t the respite he was hoping it might be. 

Eggsy sighs: he can’t stay in the toilets forever. He goes back to the table, where the conversation is in full flow and the topic is no longer his love life. He settles back into his seat, and as he does so something that’s been bothering him since he walked into the pub tonight comes into sudden, jarring focus.

He’s surrounded by people he's known all his life – there are years of shared memories, shared experiences here — but somehow, without noticing that it was happening, Eggsy has fallen out of step with them. His life is no longer their life, hasn't been since Harry Hart stepped out of the shadows and into Eggsy's life. And it's _terrifying_ , really, that maybe he can't ever get back to what he was, if he never sees Harry again. That Harry has changed him in some way that can't ever be put right.

Eggsy takes a long swig of his pint, and then another, as if the alcohol will somehow anchor him and return him to something like an even keel. Someone asks him a question, jolting him out of his reverie, and before he knows it he’s setting aside his empty glass and taking his third pint from Jamal. 

"Get another round in, yeah?" Jamal says, nudging Eggsy’s knee with his own, and Eggsy realises that he’s finished off another pint without really noticing, which is not a good sign. He knows he’s drinking too quickly, that he’s going to regret it tomorrow. With all the training he’s been doing, he hasn’t been out drinking for a while, and it’s hitting him harder than it usually would.

“Yeah, ok.” Eggsy pushes back his chair just as Karen and one of her friends come back from the ladies.

“You seen Chantelle?” Karen asks plaintively. “She went to get a lighter and she’s been gone twenty minutes.”

Chantelle used to babysit him, years ago, until he got old enough for Dean to just kick him out of the flat for the evening when he wanted some alone time with Eggsy's mum. “Haven’t seen her,” Eggsy says. Jamal nods in agreement. 

Karen rolls her eyes theatrically. “Have a look for her, will you, Eggsy?”

Eggsy nods and heads for the bar. The girls are sorting themselves out so he only has to worry about the three of them for the round. He looks around but there’s no sign of the missing Chantelle. 

He's waiting for his turn to be served at the bar when he first notices the man watching him. A few more glances confirms it, but as they make eye contact for the fourth time the man detaches himself from his perch next to a pillar and starts making his way purposefully towards Eggsy. Eggsy instinctively looks for an exit but he's effectively hemmed in by the crowd at the bar and there’s nowhere to go.

The man slides into the tiny gap next to Eggsy, smiling like he’s unaware of Eggsy’s unease. He's more or less the same age as Eggsy and Eggsy would be lying if he said he wasn't attractive. Tall, dark hair, dark eyes, and an easy smile. Confident without being too cocky.

"Buy you a drink?" The blatant once-over he gives Eggsy says more than words ever could.

_Oh_. Eggsy relaxes a little, now he knows there’s nothing sinister behind the man’s interest in him. "Nah, it's ok,” he says casually. “I'm getting a round in. Here with some mates. Thanks anyway."

Instead of being dissuaded, the man leans in. "I'm Andy." He has a nice voice, Eggsy thinks. Not posh like Harry but nice all the same.

"Eggsy." And then, because Eggsy doesn't want to give the wrong impression. "I'm, um, with someone." Which is a wholly inadequate way of describing what he has with Harry - what he isn't even sure he still _has_ \- and something of that must seep into his response because the man - Andy - frowns slightly and says:

"With someone tonight?"

"No," Eggsy says shortly, "He's away, on business. Out of the country."

"I wouldn't want to be away from you, in his place. I wouldn’t let you get out of bed." It's said with a mischievous grin that somehow makes it less cheesy, as if Andy knows exactly how over the top it sounds when they've just met.  Eggsy can’t help grinning.

"Subtle, aren't you?" 

"Subtlety is overrated when you see something you want.”

It's his turn at the bar, which gives Eggsy a desperately-needed distraction. He gives his order, hands over the note Dean gave him. He isn't doing anything wrong, he tells himself. Harry has never demanded fidelity from him, never tried to stop him doing whatever he wanted when they aren't together. It wouldn't hurt to have a drink with Andy, maybe something more. It feels good to be pursued so enthusiastically, so _innocently_ , and he’s been so wrapped up in Harry - for _months_ now - that he’s almost forgotten what it’s like to be with anyone else. Maybe this is what he needs; something meaningless, something without the complications Harry brings, something to take his mind off Harry, even temporarily. Something to distract him from the terrible, grinding loneliness he feels in the middle of a noisy, crowded pub.

"You live round here?" he asks abruptly.

Andy smiles, his eyes crinkling with amusement and understanding.  "Yeah, my flat's about five minutes away. My flatmates are out.“ 

Eggsy picks up the pint glasses the barman’s deposited in front of him and says deliberately:

“Meet you outside then?”

Andy grins back at him; a wide, triumphant grin. “See you there.”

Eggsy heads back to their table. He drops off the round - getting a knowing look off Jamal in the process - and grabs his jacket. Reflexively he checks his phone: still nothing. It feels like a sign, because he can’t lie to himself that his decision wouldn’t have been different if there had been a message from Harry waiting for him. 

“Eggsy?”

The way Jamal says his name makes Eggsy flinch a little. “Text you tomorrow, yeah?” he says brusquely. If nothing else, at least he’ll have a reason not to go home tonight.

It’s not guilt niggling at him through the haze of alcohol, he tells himself. It’s not - because Harry _left_ him. Because Harry never said it was off the table for Eggsy to go home with someone else. If Harry ever bothers to contact him again, then Eggsy will tell him and leave it up to Harry whether he wants to be pissy about it or not.

Andy is waiting for him outside, leaning casually against the wall in a way that - deliberately or not - shows off his lean body. “All right?” he asks.

Eggsy tucks his hands in his jacket pocket: it’s colder than it was when they arrived. He’s not doing anything wrong, he tells himself again, for what feels like the hundredth time. It doesn’t mean anything.

It _doesn’t_.

Andy falls into step with him, his hand grazing Eggsy’s hip. A year ago, two, Eggsy would have been practically running home with him already but now-

-but now it doesn’t feel _right_. Eggsy can think about going back to his flat but after that his mind gets stuck, refusing to go on to what might happen next. And he knows why that is - Eggsy’s never been a cheater and Andy isn’t Harry. Going home with him - fucking him, getting fucked - won’t change anything: he’ll still carry the ache of Harry’s absence.

_Fuck._

“Eggsy?”

“I- yeah.” Eggsy coughs, trying to think of a polite way of apologising. He’s saved from having to find the words as bitter understanding sparks in Andy’s eyes, and his expression hardens.

“Must be something special, this _someone_ of yours.” Andy’s mouth twists a little as he says it, a hint of petulance that makes it easier for Eggsy to say:

“Yeah, he is.” 

_Way to cockblock, Harry. From wherever the fuck you are._

Andy laughs, harsh and unamused, and for a second Eggsy thinks the other man might actually try and punch him but instead he turns on his heel and stalks off. Eggsy hears a muttered _fucking twat_ as he crosses the road. 

His phone is still in his hand. Eggsy pulls it out of his jacket and unlocks it, his fingers hovering over the screen. Before he can type anything, though, a sound from the alleyway next to the pub catches his attention. The phone is put away. As Eggsy cautiously approaches the alleyway he hears voices: one male, one female. He recognises the female voice immediately.

“Chantelle?”

“Eggsy, thank fuck,” she says loudly. He can see them now, her with her back to the wall, a man Eggsy doesn’t recognise in front of her, holding her arm. Her ponytail’s come loose - or been pulled loose - and her blonde hair spills over her shoulders. Part of the sleeve of her lacy dress is torn. “Tell this wanker to fuck off, will you? He’s not listening to me.”

“And who are you?” the man sneers. “Eggy?” Posh accent, but with a harsh, unpleasant edge Eggsy’s never heard in Harry’s voice, even when Harry was angry with him and throwing words meant to hurt.

“Eggsy.” The man’s an idiot, Eggsy thinks. Or not used to being in fights. He’s let Eggsy get to within a few steps of him and he still hasn’t turned around. “You all right, Chantelle?”

“Well, if you can kindly fuck off, _Eggy_ ,” the man says, before she can reply. “I’m a little bit busy.”

Close up, he’s younger than Eggsy thought, and soft, like he’s used to having people run around for him. “Yeah, I don’t think she’s interested, bruv.” He deliberately turns his attention back to Chantelle. “Karen’s looking for you. You should go inside.”

“Yeah, I should.” She tries to pull away from the man but he keeps hold of her arm. 

“Oh, don’t run away - Chantelle, was it?” he drawls. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Fuck off!” she says indignantly, pushing at his hand. 

The man jerks round as Eggsy’s left hand falls on his shoulder, letting go of Chantelle just long enough for her to duck under his arm, drive her elbow into his side, and make a dash for it. Eggsy grins, stepping back out of the man’s reach as he flails ineffectually. 

“Told you she wasn’t interested,” he taunts.

The man's face contorts in anger. Eggsy suspects he hasn't been told _no_ very often before. He lunges for Eggsy, but years spent living with Dean have given Eggsy lightning-fast reflexes and he easily dodges the man.

The weeks of training have an immediate payoff: Eggsy is significantly faster than the other man as he sprints up the alley and onto the next road, deliberately taking the man away from the pub. It's almost too easy, until he hears shouting and a car engine behind him and realises that the man wasn't on his own. Eggsy puts his head down and _runs_. 

It helps that he knows the area better than they do and, on foot, he can take shortcuts they can't, but he quickly discovers that whoever is driving the car behind him has no problem going through red lights and the wrong way down a one-way street. He nearly loses them at one point but, just when he thinks he's got away, he hears the roar of the engine and screeching tyres behind him and the chase is on again.

_Where's fucking Rowell when you need him_ , he thinks furiously. He pauses, just for a moment, next to a building site. The street is deserted but he can hear the car approaching. Eggsy scrambles up the site hoarding and drops down into the darkness behind, peering through a gap in the boards to watch a shiny new silver BMW pull up almost alongside his hiding place.

“He’s fucked off, Charlie. Leave it.” The voice is loud and grating. “I’m bored now.”

“I’m going to teach that little shit a lesson,” says a familiar voice. 

Eggsy grits his teeth. He’s landed in a puddle and there’s something sharp poking against his side but he daren’t move, not yet. He keeps his breathing slow and steady as he listens to them talk. By the sound of it, there are at least four of them in the car.

“He could be anywhere by now,” one says, in a nasal whine. “It’s not worth it.”

“Why are we here, anyway? Just because Charlie wanted to shag a chav.”

“Let’s get out of here. She wasn't worth it anyway.”

Eggsy doesn't move until long after the sound of the car’s engine has faded. A lorry goes past, followed by a delivery van. Somewhere, not too far away, a burglar alarm goes off. He gets to his feet, cautiously makes his way along the muddy perimeter of the building site until he stumbles into something solid that provides a convenient way back over the hoarding. 

Then, and only then, does Eggsy pull out the wallet he'd taken from the man - Charlie - while he was distracted by Eggsy’s hand on his shoulder. He rifles through it, pulls out the notes, and throws it over the hoarding into the mud of the building site. And then, because he has nothing else to do, he heads back to the pub, only to see the girls spilling out of it in a loud, giggling gaggle.

“Eggsy!” Chantelle yells when she sees him. “You fucking star, Eggsy! Saved me, didn’t you?”

“You would have had him,” Eggsy says. He accepts a hug and pushes the notes he’d taken - minus £20 - into her hands.

“What’s this?” 

“Payback,” he tells her, grinning. “Get a taxi home, yeah?”

He dodges another hug and a kiss from Karen and backs away, laughing. “They still in there?”

“They went to the Grapes; Ryan wanted to play pool.”

Eggsy starts walking like he’s following his mates to the next pub but, as soon as he’s out of sight, he changes direction: he can’t face another pub. The exhilaration of the chase is waning and the soft buzz of alcohol has long since burned away, to be replaced by a sense of gentle melancholy. There's a certain sense of inevitability about the way his feet lead him to the Tube station and Eggsy doesn't bother trying to pretend to himself that he has any intention of doing anything other than going to Harry's house. He changes onto the Piccadilly line at Green Park almost on autopilot, oblivious to anything going on around him right up until the moment he hears shouting and the sounds of a scuffle at the other end of the carriage. It's just a couple of drunks, arguing among themselves, but it shakes Eggsy out of his reverie, reminds him that he knows better than to let his guard down. With his luck, he'd probably end up sitting opposite the obnoxious Charlie.

It's raining when he emerges onto the street again, and colder too. Eggsy crosses the road, dodging a taxi swerving in towards the station, and walks as quickly as he can without running. He'll get his fool's errand over with, he thinks, pick up what little dignity he still has, and head home as slowly as he can in the hope that Dean will be asleep by the time he gets there.

Eggsy turns into the mews and stops dead: directly in front of him, at the end of the mews, there's a light on in Harry's house.

A wave of cold fury washes over Eggsy and, before he can think better of it, he's on the move, his feet skidding on the wet cobbles as he charges down the street.

Weeks. It's been fucking _weeks_. And Harry is _home_ and hasn't bothered replying to any of Eggsy's messages or giving any sign that he’s even alive. Incandescent fury carries Eggsy up to the door and drives his fist against the solid wood.

There’s no response. Eggsy hammers on the door again, loud enough that a light goes on in one of the neighbour's houses. Still no answer. Eggsy swears, pulls his phone out of his pocket, and taps furiously.

_I know you're in there, you fucking twat. Let me in._

He's almost resigned himself to throwing away all dignity and yelling up at the window when his phone lights up with Harry's response.

_Let me open the door._

Eggsy waits impatiently, shuffling from one foot to the other in a futile attempt to keep warm. He needs a warmer jacket, he thinks. One that isn't one of Dean's knock-offs. He pushes the thought away immediately: he doesn't need to think about Dean right now; h’s got enough to say to Harry. 

The angry words die on his lips as the door opens though; not because it's Harry there - and for all his anger the overwhelming emotion Eggsy feels is relief that the other man is still alive - but because Harry has a black eye.

"Hello, Eggsy," Harry says evenly. “I suppose you'd better come in."

Eggsy mutely makes his way inside. Harry turns on the hallway light once he's closed the door and Eggsy winces a little as he gets a better look at the lurid bruising. Eggsy has a fair bit of experience with bruises and this one looks about a week old and like it probably hurt like hell when it was new. Like it came close to breaking Harry’s cheekbone.

"When did you get back?" he asks.

Harry holds out a hand, indicating that Eggsy should take off his sodden jacket. "Yesterday."

"And you were going to tell me when?"

"I'm under no obligation to tell you of my movements," Harry snaps. “Take the jacket off; you’re dripping on the carpet.”

“It’s just water, Harry.”

“ _Muddy_ water.”

He’s right; Eggsy must have picked up some dirt and mud while he was hiding out in the building site and now it’s messing up Harry’s pristine floor. “Fine, I'll fuck off then," he says exasperatedly. “Since the carpet’s so fucking _important_.”

“Eggsy…”

“Just leave it, Harry.” Eggsy goes to push past him to get to the door but Harry makes a frustrated sound and catches hold of his sleeve.

"Eggsy, stay."

"I'm not a fucking dog, Harry." All of Eggsy's confusion and hurt and the overwhelming sense of loss he'd felt without Harry spills over into words. "You fucked off for weeks, and now you come back without saying a fucking word and I'm supposed to just roll over and fucking take it?"

"You were hardly sitting around idly waiting for my return," Harry says irritably.

Guilt and regret are a rancid taste in his mouth, a bitter flush upon his cheeks. "You fucking _left_ me, Harry." It comes out more sullenly than he intended and Eggsy is opening his mouth to follow it up with something more stinging when his gaze falls upon Harry's hand, and the two fingers splinted together. Harry notices his observation, of course, and for a long moment neither of them say anything, a strange, awkward silence between them.

Finally, Harry sighs. "I'm going to have a drink," he says, not meeting Eggsy's eyes. "You're welcome to stay and join me, if you like."

He turns away, like it’s of no concern whether Eggsy stays or not. Eggsy should be insulted but instead he finds himself taking off his jacket and hanging it up while Harry goes through to the dining room. Eggsy hears the other man pouring out two drinks, like they’re going to settle down for a cosy chat. 

It's surreal to even be in Harry's house again, a house he knows so well and which is yet still somehow alien to him. To be here again, with Harry, as if nothing has happened, as if Harry never went away, as if Harry isn't injured and Eggsy doesn't know what he is. Eggsy isn’t sure he can face a cosy chat.

“I met James again,” he says as he walks into the dining room.

Harry doesn’t seem to hear; expressionless, he hands him a glass. “Jura 21 year old,” he says. “Smooth, just a hint of smoke.”

Eggsy bites back his first response and takes a sip instead, watching Harry as the other man sits down at the table and contemplates his own glass. The smell of the whisky isn’t unpleasant; the taste a little less pleasant on Eggsy’s tongue. _I know_ , he wants to say. _I know what you are_. _I know you’re a spy_. The enormity of it, the weight of a secret unknowingly shared, fills the room. 

“I meant to contact you,” Harry says eventually. “At some point.”

When his injuries healed enough that Eggsy wouldn’t notice, Eggsy deduces. “Not soon enough.”

Harry gives him a look that is at once enquiring and oddly satisfied. “Perhaps. What did James say to you?”

“Nothing much. Threatened me a bit.”

“Ah.” Harry looks, if anything, amused. “He does that.”

“Met Roxy.”

Eggsy doesn’t miss the way Harry’s eyes focus on him, the sudden sharpness in his gaze. “Did you now.”

“Yeah. She’s nice.”

“Eggsy,” Harry begins, and then stops, and it hits Eggsy suddenly how _tired_ the other man looks, to the point of exhaustion. Even without the black eye, there are dark, dark rings under his eyes that speak of sleep deprivation and his cheekbones seem sharper, somehow, like the skin’s been stretched over them. Like he hasn’t been eating properly for a while. He feels guilty, now, for barging his way in here when Harry obviously wanted to be left alone.

“Maybe I should go,” he says awkwardly.

“Stay,” Harry says, and there’s weight behind that one simple word. 

Eggsy sets his glass down and gets to his feet. “No offence, Harry, but you look like you’re about to pass out. Just ring me when you’re feeling better, yeah?” The conversation they need to have can wait.

Harry drains his own glass and sets it aside. “I would _like_ you to stay,” he says, more determinedly, and he glances up at Eggsy and Eggsy doesn’t think he’s ever seen Harry like this before; stripped of his usual defences, his expression is open, raw, and shockingly vulnerable. Eggsy’s resolve crumbles in the face of it, and he nods.

They go upstairs, and Eggsy’s suspicions about the extent of Harry’s injuries are confirmed when Harry hisses as he tries to extricate himself from his shirt and Eggsy sees the tape wound snugly around his ribs. 

He doesn’t say anything.  He helps Harry with his shirt and he knows Harry is watching him but the other man doesn’t speak either. They take it in turns to brush their teeth, and Harry waits for Eggsy to get into bed before he turns off the bedside light, plunging the room into darkness.

Eggsy feels Harry’s presence more keenly without sight, in the sound of his breathing and the warm weight of his body against his own. He’s thought about this moment for weeks, ever since he worked out Harry’s secret. Planned out what he was going to say in a hundred different scenarios, only some of which had ended in Harry offering him a job at MI6. And yet now, when he has the perfect opportunity to ask necessary questions, to pin Harry down and get the truth of who Harry is, he can’t find the words. 

Perhaps, he thinks, Harry feels the same; that the truth is right there, waiting to be told, but the words on his lips are inadequate for the task.

And perhaps it doesn’t matter, because the dislocation, the sense of being disconnected from the world around him, that Eggsy had felt so acutely in the Queen’s Head, is no longer there. In Harry’s house, in Harry’s bed, he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eggsy faces the reality of what Harry is, even if he still isn't fully in the picture about Harry's other life and Eggsy and Harry - kind of - talk.

Eggsy’s noted Harry’s ability to go from deep sleep to complete alertness before but it’s never seemed so sudden, so dramatic as it does the moment Eggsy finds himself staring down the muzzle of a gun held in Harry’s unwavering hand.

For a moment, neither of them move a muscle. There’s enough light filtering around the curtains to illuminate Harry kneeling on the bed, not quite enough to be able to see Harry’s face clearly. Eggsy can see the gun clear enough, though. He can’t _stop_ seeing the gun, and how steady Harry holds it, lined up on the centre of Eggsy’s forehead. Eggsy holds perfectly still, barely daring to breathe.

“Shit,” Harry says, and the gun drops.

Eggsy takes a quick, gulping breath. His heart is hammering, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He’s never had a gun pointed at him before: knives, yes, but not guns.

“Are you all right?” Harry asks as he sets the gun down on the bedside table like this is something that happens to him every morning. And Eggsy isn’t an expert in Harry’s sleeping habits but they’ve shared a bed enough times to know that it most definitely _isn_ _’t_.

“What the _fuck_ , Harry.” He means it to be angry and indignant but his voice wavers on the swearword and part of Eggsy is mortified by that. The other part thinks he has a right to waver as much as he likes, since he only got out of bed to see whether it was raining, something perfectly normal and not worthy of having a gun pointed at him.

Harry is out of bed and across the room to him before Eggsy has finished speaking. He pulls Eggsy in close, wrapping his arms around him. “I’m sorry,” he says, very quietly. “It’s been … a difficult few weeks.”

“Really? Never would have guessed.” Eggsy wouldn’t mind standing here with his face pressed into Harry’s chest all day but he’s acutely aware of the fact that this is probably hurting Harry. He draws away slightly. “How many fucking guns do you have?”

He feels the way Harry tenses up. “What do you mean?”

“I found the one in the kitchen. Unless, unless this is the same one-”

“It’s not.”

And then, for a long, long time - long enough that Eggsy mentally counts to a hundred and then back down to zero - neither of them speak and Eggsy wonders if it’s the same for Harry, if there are so many things that could be said to address the secret hanging between them that he doesn’t know where to start. Harry is still and silent, and there’s still not enough light for Eggsy to get a good read on his expression. He has no idea whether Harry is angry at him or disappointed or possibly deciding how best to murder him and dump his body in an unmarked grave.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Eggsy says when the silence starts to get unbearable. “Secret stuff; I get that, yeah?”

He hears the subtle hitch in Harry’s breathing. “Secret stuff?”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Eggsy assures him. “I’m not a grass; never have been.”

Harry’s hand rubs idle circles on Eggsy’s back. He seems to be considering what to do next. “How long have you known?” he asks eventually.

“A while,” Eggsy admits. “Since before you went away.”

“And none of this was prompted by anything James said to you?”

Eggsy shakes his head. “He works with you, doesn’t he? It’s ok,” he adds quickly, when Harry tenses up again. “You don’t have to tell me any spy stuff. We don’t even have to talk about this again.”

Harry mutters something Eggsy can’t quite hear but he’s rubbing Eggsy’s back again, which Eggsy will take as a good sign.

“You swear you won’t say anything? Not to anyone.”

“Swear,” Eggsy says firmly. “On my mum’s life, I won’t tell anyone.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” Harry presses a quick kiss to Eggsy’s temple before Eggsy can ask what he means. He sounds almost himself again when he adds:

“Much obliged, Eggsy.”

“Yeah, well, I’d be _obliged_ if you don’t point a gun at me again.”

The second kiss is gentler, more apologetic. “Yes, I’m sorry about that. You caught me a little by surprise.”

“Which doesn’t answer the question of why you have a fucking gun under your pillow.”

“A gentleman is always prepared, Eggsy,” Harry says primly. “Speaking of which, I went to Tesco and got some milk yesterday. Shall we have a cup of tea?”

“Uh uh,” Eggsy says, shaking his head. “You’re staying here; I’ll make it. How many ribs did you break, anyway?”

“Two,” Harry admits after the briefest of hesitations. “Nothing some rest and paracetamol won’t heal.”

“Get back in bed, then. I’ll get the tea.”

He thinks he catches the flicker of a smile on Harry’s lips but the other man obediently gets back into bed and pulls the duvet up over his body.

“Is that good enough for you?”

“Near enough. You got any of those really good painkillers knocking around?”

“I don’t need those,” Harry says, in a decisive tone. “Paracetamol is fine.”

“You gave them to me,” Eggsy points out. ‘What, they’re good for me and not for you?”

“That was an entirely different situation. I-” Harry stops. He doesn’t finish the sentence but Eggsy can fill in the blanks: Harry is used to getting hurt. But Eggsy is too, and he knows broken ribs hurt like hell. He also knows that arguing with Harry isn’t going to get him anywhere while Harry’s exhausted, in pain, and on edge.

He goes downstairs. In Harry’s kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil, Eggsy starts to shake so badly he has to sit down on the floor. He feels like he’s going to be sick.

He’s always known Harry is dangerous - has known it since the night they met - but _seeing_ it, seeing Harry as the killer he must surely be, makes it all acutely, terrifyingly real.  And he can’t get the thought of how close he came to death at Harry’s hand out of his head.

_I think he might hurt you,_ James had said. _Without meaning to_.

Eggsy understands what he means now. He distractedly runs a hand through his hair. His list of options at this point is disconcertingly short. Running away wouldn’t necessarily help: Eggsy doesn’t know much about how spy agencies work but he guesses that, with all the resources of the state behind him, Harry could find him easily enough, wherever he went. And the police wouldn’t help either, even if Eggsy could somehow convince them that he wasn’t just making shit up. Which means Eggsy should probably be terrified, and yet-

-and yet, with no evidence beyond what he knows of Harry - what he _really_ knows of Harry - Eggsy thinks that Harry would let him walk away, if Eggsy chose to do so. That Eggsy doesn’t need anyone to swoop in and rescue him because Harry, despite what has happened this morning, wouldn’t hurt him.

Not any more than Eggsy wants him to, anyway.

Harry’s always given him the choice to leave, always take care with him. And that, Eggsy thinks, counts for something. He gets to his feet as the kettle clicks off.

When he goes back upstairs Harry doesn’t seem to have moved an inch but the gun is gone. Squirrelled away in whatever hiding place he has for it, Eggsy guesses. Pain and fatigue make Harry’s expression less unreadable than usual though: Eggsy sees the look of faint surprise at his reappearance, like he expected Eggsy to leave.

"Here," Eggsy says breezily, setting Harry's mug down on the bedside table. "Take these." He holds out the painkillers.

Harry's mouth twists with something that might be annoyance. "Where did you find those?"

"In your really shit hiding place behind the coffee. Take them." Then, before Harry can say a word, he adds:

"I'll stay. I won't go to sleep."

Harry gives him a long look, which Eggsy returns, unflinching, before taking the tablets with a sigh. “One, and one only,” he says eventually, with evident reluctance.

Eggsy doesn’t bother arguing; he suspects one tablet will be enough anyway and he’s proved right when Harry manages all of four sips of tea before he falls asleep. Eggsy leaves him to it and goes for a shower.

It feels strange, to be in Harry’s house effectively alone - Eggsy knows from his own experience with Harry’s special painkillers that Harry’s going to be insensible for a while - and with free rein to do much as he likes. It speaks to the trust Harry has in him, that he would be willing to leave himself at Eggsy’s mercy. That he asked - no, _begged_ \- Eggsy to stay in the first place.

Eggsy doesn't think that Harry is in the habit of begging people to stay with him.

He makes himself another cup of tea, looks in on Harry to see that the other man is still asleep, and does a quick circuit of the house, checking that everything is as he remembers and that the house is secure - although he doesn't think Harry would be careless, even injured. As far as he can tell, nothing's changed, but there's a bundle of euros on the side in the dining room. Eggsy considers the possibility of it being a test of sorts - he doesn't know what it would convert to but it has to be a few hundred pounds - but Harry couldn't have known that Eggsy would drop in uninvited and it seems a rather belated test, since Eggsy's had plenty of opportunities to steal from Harry if he'd cared to do so.

He makes himself some toast and eats it in front of the TV, but he can't sit around watching _Homes under the Hammer_ all morning. He checks his phone and finds two texts from Jamal and one from his mum, both asking - in different ways - whether he got lucky last night. Eggsy texts his mum back to let her know he's not sure whether he's going to be home tonight and goes to do some washing up. Harry must have a cleaner, he thinks, because the house is spotless despite Harry’s long absence.

Harry doesn't wake up until mid-afternoon and, when he does, it's an hour or so before he's fully awake. Eggsy spends most of that time sitting on the bed next to him, watching YouTube videos with the sound turned down low. He knows Harry is back with him when the other man makes a sound of irritation and tries to reach for the phone. Eggsy deftly evades the grab.

"What are you watching? It’s very loud," Harry grouses.

Eggsy shows him the screen. Harry rolls his eyes.

" _Cop car doing donuts_ : how very educational. Pass me my tea, please."

"Harry, you've been asleep for five hours; it's gone. I'll make you some more, if you like. Want something to eat?"

Harry briefly looks torn before he shakes his head. "I'm going to have a shower," he says decisively.

"Can you even stand?" Eggsy hurries on before Harry can reply, not wanting to get drawn into an argument. "I'll run you a bath. You're not standing in the shower."

Harry, to Eggsy's surprise, doesn't protest. He stays where he is while Eggsy runs a bath for him, and he lets Eggsy help him to the bathroom. Only then does he lay his uninjured hand on Eggsy's arm and say:

"I'm all right."

Meaning he wants to be left alone, Eggsy deduces. He should probably argue the point but instead Eggsy says:

“Don’t lock the door, yeah?”

“I assure you I’m not going to faint dramatically,” Harry says sharply, and Eggsy knows him well enough to know that it’s not anger at _him_ , exactly, but rather anger at the insinuation, at the reminder of his own weakened condition.

Eggsy leaves Harry to his bath but there's something buzzing under his skin as he goes back into the bedroom; not anger, exactly, but a restless need to _do_ something about the barrier Harry is trying to put up between them. And he gets it, he does. Harry is, and probably always has been, intensely self-contained. And yet, he'd asked Eggsy to stay, though it must have cost him to do so. Or maybe, Eggsy thinks, he was so exhausted and in pain that his usual defences failed him. Either way, he’d wanted - no, _needed_ \- Eggsy, and Eggsy isn’t going to let Harry push him away now.

When Harry comes back to the bedroom, redressed in his pyjamas and holding himself a little too carefully for Eggsy’s liking, Eggsy steps in front of him and puts his hands on Harry's chest.

"Let me look at you," he says.

He doesn't have to elaborate: he sees the flash of understanding in Harry's eyes. "Eggsy..."

"Harry," he says firmly.

Harry sighs. "I suppose there's no point in me arguing, is there?"

"Nope." Eggsy musters a cheeky smile when he adds, "I put the heating on and everything."

"Closed the curtains too. It'll be like a sauna in here in an hour," Harry grumbles. He fumbles with the top button of his pyjama top for a moment before Eggsy takes over, brushing his hands aside.

It's a strange experience, undressing Harry while the other man stands mute and mostly immobile, moving only on Eggsy's unspoken prompting. Eggsy resists the urge to go too quickly: Harry's hurt and, although Eggsy does his best to be careful, once or twice he winces when Eggsy moves too fast. But he doesn't complain, or try to stop Eggsy, and, when the pyjama shirt top finally falls to the floor, he leans down to accept the kiss Eggsy offers. Somehow, of all the things they've done together, this feels like the most intimate act of all. It’s Harry trusting Eggsy to touch him when he’s hurt, and Harry allowing Eggsy to take care of him. Eggsy doesn’t think that trust is something that comes easily to Harry.

Eggsy trails a finger across Harry's chest, tracing the upper edge of the bandaging. It looks looser than it was, like Harry wasn’t able to redo it as well as it was done originally, and it’s shifted down enough that Eggsy can see what was hidden before. The bruising is bad: dark and vicious-looking. But there are other, older marks on Harry’s body. A thin, faded scar on his collarbone, another just below. Two small, neat surgical scars on his other shoulder, directly over the joint. Eggsy can't stop searching, now he's started looking. This is the evidence of Harry's other life, his secret life; told in scars and bruises and the calluses on his hands.

"What was this one?" he asks as his hands find the large, jagged scar on Harry's back.

He can't see Harry's face. Perhaps it's easier that way. "A disagreement with a man in Vancouver." He says it casually, like it might have been a minor argument over a spilled drink.

"Did you win?"

"Oh yes," Harry says, sounding almost surprised that Eggsy would ask. "But he left a souvenir, as you can see."

Eggsy grins to himself. He slides his arms around Harry's waist, presses up against Harry's broad back. Harry is very slightly too warm; his skin radiating the heat of a mild fever. He's alive, though. And he's here. He's here with Eggsy, and that means something.

"Eggsy?" Harry prompts, very quietly.

"I want you," Eggsy says. "I want you to- Fuck, Harry, I've missed you."

“And I’ve missed you,” Harry says, very quietly. “But fucking may not be on the cards at the moment.”

Eggsy rubs his thumbs down Harry’s back, either side of his spine. “Yeah, yeah,” he says. “Didn’t ring me, did you?” It still stings a little bit. “You said you would.” He hates how petulant the words sound but it’s been nagging at him, that Harry didn’t ring him again after that first time.

Harry sighs. “It wasn’t safe to contact you, Eggsy.”

It’s the most Harry’s said in detail about his other life and Eggsy knows he can’t expect any more, but he wants to know, and not just out of curiosity built on Bond films and watching _The Man from UNCLE_ with his mum. “Is it not safe a lot?”

“From time to time,” Harry says neutrally.

“But you like the danger, yeah?”

“Perhaps,” Harry says, just as blandly. This is going to be the reality, Eggsy knows. Harry can’t tell him the things Eggsy wants to know and that’s something he’s just going to have to learn to live with, if there’s to be any future in this, this _thing_ between them. There’s another bruise on Harry’s back; lower, in the small of his back. Eggsy traces the outline of it. This, too, is the reality of his situation, the price of being with Harry: the constant, low-level understanding that one day he might not get Harry back.

Maybe, Eggsy thinks, this how his mum felt when his dad was still alive, every time he left and she waved him off never knowing if he’d come back alive. And he remembers all too clearly the day the stiff regimental officer came to tell them his father wasn’t coming home and he needs to know now that Harry’s heart still beats

Eggsy hooks his thumbs under Harry's waistband and pauses for a moment, waiting for permission. He hears the hitch in Harry's breathing, feels the faint tremor that runs through the other man’s body.

“Let me,” he says, trying to convey everything he can’t put into words in the press of his hands against Harry’s hips. “Please. Please, Harry. I want you.”

"I want you too," Harry says carefully. "But I think I should probably sit down."

From Harry, it's a startling admission of weakness. “Come to bed, then.”

It's natural for Eggsy to kneel to help Harry undress, to help him step out of the pyjamas before he sits down on the edge of the bed. Eggsy stays on his knees then, Harry's hand in his hair. He tentatively places his own hand on Harry's knee, where there's a strangely-patterned scar on Harry's thigh that Eggsy thinks might be a gunshot wound.

“You should probably lie down,” Eggsy says, glancing up. Harry looks pale, but he gives Eggsy a baleful look all the same.

“I’m not dead yet.”

“Never said you were. Get into bed.”

Harry, to his surprise, does what he’s told without complaint, sitting up against the headboard. Eggsy strips off his own clothes and climbs onto the bed, straddling Harry's thighs, careful not to put any weight on the other man.

“Excellent view,” Harry says appreciatively. “Are you enjoying being the one in charge?” He reaches up above his head like he’s going to grip the headboard before he stops abruptly with a wince and a pained grimace.

“Don’t fucking move,” Eggsy tells him exasperatedly. “No one’s going to have a good time if you’re in A&E.”

“Actually-”

“Don’t even fucking finish that sentence, Harry.” Eggsy makes a loose fist around Harry’s cock and strokes up the length of it. Harry, wisely, bites back whatever anecdote he was about to share.

Eggsy takes his time with this, now he’s finally got his hands on Harry. Learning what Harry likes, savouring every gasp, every minute tremble. He realises that he’s never seen Harry naked before, never been allowed to get so close to him. He’s wondered, from time to time, if Harry was paranoid about his body, if the age gap between them made him self-conscious, but either he’s too tired to care today or Eggsy was wrong, because Harry is unashamedly responding to Eggsy’s hands on him. If anything, _Eggsy_ feels self-conscious, because Harry watches him with a fierce intensity that Eggsy feels down to his bones, like Harry is stripping away the layers of him and setting them out for his own private viewing.

“Look in the bedside table, second drawer down," Harry says suddenly, unexpectedly. "It's a present for you that I was saving but now seems as good a time as any."

Puzzled, Eggsy relinquishes his hold on Harry and manages to lean over without losing his balance. The drawer contains nothing but a white box, which Eggsy levers out. He glances back at Harry.

"Open it," Harry prompts.

It's heavy, whatever it is. Eggsy gingerly breaks the security seal and pries the lid off the box to find a black bag and a small bottle, nestled in expensive-looking packaging. Eggsy picks up the bag and peers inside.

"It's- Is it _glass_?"

"Yes." Harry looks ridiculously pleased with himself, like a glass buttplug is a perfectly normal present to give someone. Maybe it is, for a toff like Harry. Maybe that’s the sort of thing they pass around all the time.

Eggsy hefts the thing in his hand. He's never seen anything like this before and it's not intimidating, not like some of the toys he's seen in porn. It's only a little longer than his middle finger, with a thick tapered bulb that narrows and then flares out at the base. The glass is clear but there are swirls of white and silver through it. It’s beautiful, really, almost like an ornament his mum could put on a shelf. Eggsy has to bite back an inappropriate laugh at the mental image.

"It's cold."

"It'll warm up, with your body heat. Hold it in your hand for a while."

Holding the plug in one hand as directed, Eggsy investigates the bottle with the other. It's lube: Harry planning ahead as always.

"You want me to put this in, yeah?” he asks slowly. “Want to watch me, Harry?"

"I always want to watch you," Harry murmurs.

"Want to touch me more though, don't you?" Eggsy gets his hand round the plug. It fits in his closed fist nicely. "You've been thinking about this."

"Yes," Harry says simply. His good hand settles on Eggsy's leg, his thumb rubbing gently against Eggsy's skin. "I thought about you a lot while I was away. Far too much, probably." His hand slides to Eggsy's inner thigh, fingertips teasing the sensitive skin there. "You're very distracting."

"Is that a complaint, Harry? Because I can stop if you want."

"Don't you dare," Harry says darkly. "And don't stint with that stuff; there's plenty more. Use your fingers first, if you like."

Eggsy, interrupted in the act of applying lube to the plug, gives the other man an unimpressed look. "I've done it before, you know," he says. "And this thing ain't that big."

And that's true, except it's different to taking a cock. The slide of the smooth, cool glass, the solid weight of it inside him, is like nothing Eggsy has ever felt before. He bites his lip against the initial stretch of it, Harry's broad hand steadying him and Harry watching him with that terrifyingly intense gaze. The plug isn't as warm as he might have liked, but Eggsy finds that he doesn't mind that so much, that the slight discomfort he would have complained about with anyone else only serves to heighten his desire for this, his _need_ for this, when it’s _Harry_ directing him to do it.

He has to stop and take a breath when the plug is fully seated, bracing himself on all fours above Harry. His heart is pounding and he’s sweating: despite what he told Harry, it's been a while since he last got fucked and the plug feels _huge_ inside him, like he’s about to split open from the size and weight of it. He's almost forgotten about his own cock and he startles when Harry's hand closes around it.

"Eggsy?" Harry prompts gently. He gives Eggsy's softening cock a single, teasing stroke.

Eggsy blinks. "It's- it's ok," he manages. He shifts his position slightly, groaning as the plug moves inside him. "I like it," he reassures Harry. He manages to edge backwards without jostling the plug too much, so he can lean forward. The new angle seems to push the plug even deeper into him. "It's just- it's a lot. You still ok?"

Harry's expression softens. He pets Eggsy's hair. "Yes, Eggsy," he says.

“Do you want me to-”

“Just your hand, Eggsy.” His expression hardens, just for a moment. “But you’re not to touch yourself.”

Eggsy groans, ducking his head down so he can kiss Harry. “That’s ok.” The stretch of the plug inside him and the smooth slide of it with even the tiniest movement he makes are a maddening combination and he doesn’t think he can come from it alone but he wants to, wants to come and doesn’t, because he has his hand wrapped around Harry’s cock again, stroking him faster, stealing another fierce, demanding kiss as Harry’s wounded body goes tight and rigid beneath him. It almost feels like his own release when Harry comes, _better_ than his own release. Eggsy kisses Harry again, grinning against the other man’s lips as Harry mumbles a few choice swear words.

He feels guilty almost immediately, because Harry looks _exhausted_ and winces when Eggsy moves off him, but before he can say anything Harry catches hold of his arm.

“If you want to-” the other man begins.

“Harry, no offence, but I don’t want you dropping dead on me,” Eggsy assures him, palming his own half-hard cock. “I can get myself off, yeah? You can still watch, if you want.”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Harry says after a brief hesitation. “Get yourself off, I mean.”

_Oh_. “For how long?” Eggsy asks. He doesn't bother to even pretend to object to the suggestion.

Harry smirks, and that’s the old Harry, the one Eggsy knows. The one who’s been returned to him, this time. “Until I say so,” he says, and draws Eggsy down for another kiss.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry whisks Eggsy away on a little trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry sorry sorry for the delay in posting this. To cut a long story short, originally it went in a very different direction that did.not.work and the only solution was to trash it and start again. 
> 
> I've said this before but I can't say it enough: thank you all so much for your lovely comments on this fic.

Harry is not only on time but early, waiting patiently with his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat when Eggsy turns into the car park. It's enough to cause Eggsy to do a double-take, and then a third when he gets a look at the car Harry is leaning against.

"Something wrong, Eggsy?" Harry asks. His black eye is almost gone now, just a tiny amount of bruising still remaining. He’s wearing black trousers and a soft-looking dark grey sweater over an open-necked white shirt. It’s a good look on him.

Eggsy shrugs. "Didn't have you down as driving a Volvo,” he says with studied casualness. “Especially a Volvo _estate_."

Harry gives him a long-suffering look and presses the key fob to unlock the car. "The older one gets, the more one appreciates comfort, especially when a long drive is involved,” he says primly. “And besides," he adds as he takes Eggsy's rucksack and slides it in the boot alongside a neat pair of suitcases and a couple of suit carriers. "The Jag doesn't handle as well in the rain. Get in; I can feel it starting to spit."

Eggsy gets into the car. “Thought you'd have a Bentley or something," he says as he settles into the passenger seat and buckles his seat belt.

Harry, having removed and carefully placed his coat on the back seat, gets into the driver's seat. "Do I look like a Premier League footballer?" he says acidly. The engine roars into life. "How was training today?"

"Good, yeah,” Eggsy says, momentarily distracted by the mental image of Harry in football shorts. “Ellie says I should do a half-marathon or something. Structure my training. Give me some focus now I can run for longer.“

“Are you going to?”

“Sign up for one? Yeah, maybe. It’s something to aim for, isn’t it?”

“And the feeling of achievement afterwards.”

“Yeah, definitely. I’m not doing a proper marathon though,” Eggsy adds, just in case Harry gets any ideas. “I know my limits.”

“Mmm. It’s good to test one’s limits sometimes.”

Eggsy squints at him, trying to gauge how much of an innuendo it is. Harry’s expression remains frustratingly inscrutable as he says:

"You like running, I take it.“ Harry adroitly manoeuvres the car out of the narrow space. Eggsy finds himself staring at Harry’s hands on the steering wheel. "And don't fiddle around with the radio; I want the traffic alerts."

"I don't even know where we're going." The rain, as Harry had predicted, has started to fall in earnest. "And, yeah, I like running. Clears my head, you know?"

Except, these last few days, it hasn’t been working as well as it should, and Eggsy isn’t sure _why_ , exactly. Life’s been all right, since Harry got back. Granted, he hasn't seen as much of Harry as he might have liked, but Harry has been good at keeping in touch, texting him at least once a day if they don’t see each other in person. They've been out for dinner a couple of times, and Eggsy spent most of last weekend at Harry’s, watching TV while Harry tapped away at his laptop in the dining room. Eggsy would have been offended by the lack of attention, if Harry hadn’t given him a truly spectacular blowjob on Saturday night. Eggsy was happy to reciprocate, but Harry only smiled and told him to go to sleep and Eggsy had been too exhausted to make a stand.

Still, Dean seems to be avoiding him, which is fine by Eggsy; the less he sees of the man the better. Daisy has shaken off the ear infection she's had for a few weeks, which means everyone gets some sleep, and his mum seems happier than Eggsy’s seen her in a while. He's still going to training sessions with Ellie three or four times a week and, although he feels like he's plateaued a little bit, she seems to be happy enough with his progress. Life is good, and now Harry is whisking him away for something he hasn’t exactly gone into details about but which Eggsy hopes includes getting his hands on Harry again.

"What did you tell your mother, in the end?" Harry asks idly. He has some sort of card for the car park barrier; Eggsy doesn't get a good look at it but it doesn’t look like a normal pay and display ticket. _Useful for a spy_ , he thinks. _Don’t have to worry about paying for parking while the baddie’s getting away. You don’t see James Bond looking for change for the meter_.

"Told her the JobCentre sent me on a course."

“Very inventive. Did she believe you?"

"Just pleased to get me out of the flat at the moment, I think." Eggsy deliberately looks away as he says it, but in his peripheral vision he catches the sharp look Harry gives him.

"Is your stepfather causing problems again?"

"Not really." He hopes Harry can hear the truth in his voice. "Good to have some space, you know?"

"Yes," Harry says, in a distinctly non-committal tone. In an effort to change the subject, Eggsy says:

"The car's all right. Plenty of room."

"It's a pain in the backside driving around London at this time of day." As if for emphasis, Harry hits the brakes just in time to avoid contact with a moped wobbling out in front of the Volvo. "But hopefully, once we get on the motorway, it won't be as bad."

Eggsy nods. "And when are you gonna tell me where we're going?"

"Oh, much later." Harry changes lanes and undercuts a dawdling Range Rover in a sudden and faintly alarming burst of speed. "North."

"That fucking narrows it down," Eggsy says sarcastically. Harry just smiles.

“Call it a surprise.”

Eggsy isn’t particularly surprised by Harry’s closed-off demeanour and the lack of useful information. Harry's physical injuries might be mostly mended now but Eggsy suspects that the memory of his own vulnerability, his own mistake in letting down his guard so catastrophically around Eggsy, still rankles with Harry and makes him more standoffish than he would be otherwise. But this little trip - Eggsy hesitates to call it anything as formal as a _holiday_ \- feels like Harry’s way of apologising and Eggsy is curious enough about what Harry has planned to let Harry get away with it for now.

Eggsy hasn't travelled much in his life. He vaguely remembers getting the train down to Devon a few times to visit his paternal grandmother, but she'd died when he was nine. He has a memory, too, of being on a beach with his dad, playing football with an inflatable ball his dad had bought from a souvenir shop on a pier, but he has no idea where that was, only that the wind was cold on the beach and his dad had wrapped him in his own sweater to keep him warm.

The memory aches a little, like an old bruise. But it also raises a question he’d failed to consider before.

“Are we going to be outside a lot?” he asks Harry. “Didn’t know what clothes you wanted me to bring.”

He sees the corner of Harry’s mouth twitch, like he’s thinking about making a crack about Eggsy not needing many clothes, but instead Harry says:

“I can lend you something if you’re cold.”

As Harry had predicted, once they get out of north London and onto the M1 Harry can put his foot down, the powerful car easily overtaking the slew of lorries and vans that had held them up on the urban roads. Eggsy looks out of the window at the unfolding scenery with renewed interest.

"I remember when this was built," Harry remarks as they pass under the M25.

Eggsy peers up at the viaduct, unimpressed. "Harry, please tell me you're not some kind of motorway bridge spotter."

Harry makes a choked sound that is somewhere between outrage and laughter. “I don’t think that’s a thing, Eggsy.”

“You don’t know that. People like all kinds of weird shit.”

“Well, I can assure you I’m not any kind of motorway spotter. The day of the opening was ... memorable, that’s all.”

The way he says the word _memorable_ piques Eggsy's interest, like there's more to the story that Harry isn't sharing. And Eggsy can guess, from the way he says it, that this _thing_ \- whatever it is - is something to do with Harry's other life, his secret life. But Harry doesn't share any more information and seems content to drive on in silence, with only the radio for background noise. Eggsy resigns himself to watching the scenery flash by.

They come off onto the M6 at junction 19, and the traffic starts to get heavier. Glancing at the dashboard clock, Eggsy realises it's getting close to the evening rush hour and Harry, he can tell, is getting impatient with the increasingly slow speed of the traffic, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel and frowning heavily when a white van cuts him up.

"You know, we could stop for a bit," Eggsy offers. “Get a coffee. Bring your blood pressure down.”

"Good idea," Harry says after the briefest of hesitations. "We'll stop at Corley services and have something to eat and let the traffic die down."

“Right,” Eggsy says dubiously. He can’t imagine how this can possibly go well. And yet-

-and yet when they _do_ pull off the motorway and park up in the services, Harry doesn’t stand out as much as Eggsy thought he might. He still turns heads - Eggsy notices multiple people turning to eye him appraisingly as they walk across the car park - but he could be an ordinary person, an ordinary man, not _Harry_. It’s some kind of trick, Eggsy thinks. Like a disguise but instead of a hat and false beard it’s some kind of persona Harry slips on like an overcoat when he wants to blend in with the crowd.

“Where do you want to eat?” Eggsy asks once they’re inside, looking around.

“Take your pick,” Harry says, handing Eggsy two £20 notes. “I’m going for a piss. But if you go to Burger King, I’m leaving you here.”

Eggsy gets fish and chips - which he thinks is a fairly safe bet - and is rewarded with a small smile and a satisfied nod when Harry returns. He’s carrying a WHSmith bag, having apparently taken the opportunity of doing some shopping while Eggsy was stuck in a queue for the till behind a coach party.

“Water,” he explains when he sees Eggsy looking. “Some snacks as well. We still have a long way to go.”

“You’re gonna have to tell me at some point where we’re going, Harry.”

“You’ll see when we get there. Was there any tartare sauce?”

“Fucking hell, Harry,” Eggsy complains as he pushes his chair back. “What did your last slave die of?”

“Sexual exhaustion,” Harry says without missing a beat. “I think it’s over there, next to the cutlery.”

Eggsy knows he doesn’t have to. If he said _no, fuck off and get it yourself_ right now, if he meant it, Harry would stand up and get his own damn tartare sauce and he wouldn’t hold the refusal against Eggsy, not in the way someone like Dean would, meeting defiance with a raised fist and angry words. Eggsy’s never responded well to the physical approach but when Harry gives him an instruction it seems to tap directly into the part of Eggsy’s brain that wants to do exactly what Harry tells him to do. The part that wants to please Harry, to make Harry pleased with him. It’s scary, in a way, but intoxicating too, an addiction he doesn’t want to get over. Eggsy gets up, fetches the tartare sauce, and returns to their table to toss the small packet onto the tabletop between them with an insolent glare they both know is purely for show.

“Much obliged, Eggsy,” Harry says mildly, picking up the packet. “Don’t let your dinner get cold.”

It’s hard to have a conversation: the tables are close together and the place is busy enough that it’s difficult to hear each other over the hubbub. Eggsy concentrates on eating, and tries not to spend too much time watching Harry’s hands and thinking about how they feel on his skin, because the last thing he needs is to get an erection in the middle of the motorway services.

“You might as well use the facilities,” Harry says when they’ve both finished their meal. “I’ll wait in the car for you, shall I?”

“Yeah, ok.”

“If you think you’ll want anything else to eat on the journey besides crisps and lemon sherbets, get it. I’m not planning on stopping again.”

“Nah, sounds like a good healthy diet to me,” Eggsy says with a grin. “You’re gonna get me in trouble with Ellie though. She’s got me on a diet plan.”

“I won’t tell her if you don’t. And besides, you’ll be burning off calories soon enough. Your toys are in my suitcase, by the way.”

“Fucking hell, Harry,” Eggsy complains, loud enough that he gets a disapproving glare from three women at the next table. Harry, evil bastard that he is, just smiles innocently.

“I’ll be in the car.”

“You know,” Eggsy counters, “maybe you could get something out of your suitcase.”

“Really, Eggsy, patience is a virtue.”

“Thought you might like to test my limits, that’s all.”

“Or maybe you could do your business and meet me at the car so we can get to our destination before midnight,” Harry says. Eggsy relents; he can tell when he’s pushing the limits of Harry’s patience.

“Fine. I’ll see you in a minute.”

Eggsy tugs his jacket down further to conceal his crotch as he makes his way to the toilets. Harry, he mentally concedes, is probably right: a lengthy car journey isn’t the time to try out the new plug Harry bought him last week. But the fact that Harry has brought it - _them_ \- along is ruling out some of the less fun reasons Eggsy has considered for Harry spiriting him away. The lack of information about this little trip is getting more and more frustrating though. It gives free rein to his imagination, which veers between increasingly lurid sexual fantasies and thoughts of the myriad ways Harry could murder him and dispose of his body.

It should concern him more, he thinks, that the mere possibility of danger doesn’t have him running for the hills.

Eggsy is washing his hands when he notices the man watching him. Most people would probably have missed it but Eggsy has spent half a lifetime living on his wits and his brain automatically shifts into gear, responding to a potential threat before his conscious mind catches up.

There’s nothing obviously out of place about the man. He’s older than Eggsy, younger than Harry, dressed in anonymously casual clothes. He could be a holidaymaker or just a man on his way home from work but there’s something not quite right about him, something Eggsy can’t pinpoint but understands as _dangerous_ all the same.

Eggsy automatically scans the room for an exit, something to hide behind, but before he can do anything he registers the sound of approaching footsteps and children’s voices. A harassed-looking middle-aged man walks in, two small children trailing in his wake, and the man - the _threat_ \- smoothly turns away like he was never interested in Eggsy at all.

“Dad, can I have an ice cream...”

“Dad, I don’t want to sit in the car any more...”

Eggsy takes advantage of the distraction to make his escape, not running but walking quickly to put as much distance as he can between himself and the man as he weaves his way through the crowds flowing through the services. It’s dark and cold outside, not a night to be hanging around, but Eggsy is glad of the cover the darkness provides as he hurries across the car park, relieved beyond measure to see Harry’s car.

"We're not going to stay with your mother, are we?" Eggsy asks breathlessly as he slides into the passenger seat.

If Harry is irritated by the amount of time Eggsy's taken, he doesn't show it. "No."

"Not going to show me the family home?” Eggsy buckles his seat belt and takes a few deep breaths. His heart is still racing, his hands trembling with the lingering adrenaline.

"I wouldn't inflict the mouldering pile on you." Harry eases the car out of its parking space. "We're running a little late. If I put my foot down we might make up some of the time. What happened in there?"

"Nothing,” Eggsy says evasively. He probably shouldn’t be surprised that Harry immediately noticed something was wrong. “Just some creepy guy in the toilets."

Harry gives him a sharp look. "What guy?"

"Just a guy." Eggsy tries to bring the man to mind. "About your height, looked a bit like James Purefoy with ginger hair." Who he’d had a teenage crush on after watching _A Knight’s Tale_ with his mum but he’s not going to tell Harry that. “Had a scar next to his eyebrow, here.” He touches a finger to his face.

Harry makes a noncommittal sound. "Did he say anything to you?"

"Nope, nothing. Just creeping.”

Harry nods, a sharp, jerking motion. He aggressively accelerates the Volvo down the slip road and cuts into traffic like he wants to get away from the services as quickly as possible.

“Harry,” Eggsy ventures, as Harry pulls across two lanes in one smooth sweep. “Do you know him or something?”

“I know who he works for,” Harry says cryptically. Then, “Can you unwrap a lemon sherbet for me, please? They’re in the glove box. Have one yourself if you like.”

“Yes, Harry.” He takes out two sweets as directed and unwraps the first for Harry. Glancing at the speedometer as he hands it over, he says, “You know you’re doing 125, don’t you?”

“Yes.” The car accelerates.

“Harry, you’re going to get done for speeding.”

“I doubt it,” Harry says mildly. They’re doing 140mph now, scything through the traffic.

“Don’t blame me if you get pulled over. I know you can probably afford some fancy lawyer-“

“Barrister, Eggsy. We’re not in an American cop show.”

“Fine, _barrister_ ,” Eggsy says exasperatedly. “Fucking hell, Harry, this car is going to fucking explode.” It’s an exaggeration, of course. Eggsy thinks that Harry must have had the car specially tuned because the engine sounds like it’s hardly straining at all.

“Of course it isn’t,” Harry retorts, but he does back off a little.

“Is this, like, your spy car? Do you have rocket launchers in it and shit?”

Harry gives what has to be a whole-body sigh. “No, Eggsy, there are no rocket launchers. And if there were,” he adds before Eggsy can say a word, “I wouldn’t let you use them. Not on the M6, at least. Why don’t you try and sleep for a while? We still have a long way to go.”

It’s not an order, not exactly, but Eggsy _is_ tired and the steady hum of the engine is surprisingly soporific. He picks his jacket up off the floor, wads it up to make a pillow for himself against the door pillar, and closes his eyes. It wouldn’t hurt, he tells himself, to doze for a few minutes.

He wakes up to the car decelerating, momentarily disorientated. Harry reaches over without looking and lays his hand on Eggsy’s arm, a warm, steadying weight.

“All right?”

“Yeah.” Eggsy looks at the clock display on the dashboard. He’s been asleep for two hours. “Where are we?”

“Just coming off the M6. Not a bad journey, all in all.”

The rain is lashing down. Even with the wipers going full tilt Eggsy can’t see much of the slip road. He can’t see much sign of civilisation either.

“Want another lemon sherbet?” He stretches, wincing at the ache in his muscles from sleeping in such a cramped position.

It’s hard to tell in the darkness, the interior of the car lit only by the muted glow of the dashboard, but Eggsy thinks Harry smiles. “No, thank you.”

The slip road ends at a t-junction. The road that crosses it is a narrow, single-carriageway road. There are no road signs but Harry confidently turns right. Eggsy peers ahead into the darkness.

“Where _are_ we?”

“Just passing over the M6,” Harry says laconically.

“Thought you said you weren’t a bridge spotter.”

“ _Eggsy_.”

Eggsy quickly loses track of where they are in relation to the motorway they’ve behind. He has the sensation of going uphill and then descending into some sort of dip before climbing again, but the road twists and turns and, in the dark, in unfamiliar surroundings, and with the rain coming down like a solid wall of water, he can’t get his bearings. The small, stone-built house that looms up at them out of the rain almost looks out of place, an imposition of humanity in an alien world.

There’s a sturdy wooden gate across the road ahead, padlocked shut. Harry slows down, pulling the car over to the side of the road nearest the house. Eggsy reaches for the buckle of his seatbelt.

“No,” Harry says. “We’re not there yet.”

Confused, Eggsy stays where he is. Someone must have been watching out for their arrival in the house because a door opens and someone comes out, so bundled up against the weather Eggsy can’t tell whether it’s a man or woman until Harry rolls down the window on his side and says:

“Hello, Stuart. Horrible weather.”

“Yes, sir. It’s all ready for you. Heating on, and there’s a late supper in the fridge.”

“Much obliged. Give my regards to your wife.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll open the gate for you.”

Harry rolls the window up again as the man hurries to the gate. Even in the few seconds the window was open the temperature inside the car has dropped significantly and Eggsy finds that he’s shivering.

“Cold?” Harry asks, shifting the car into gear.

“Not really,” Eggsy lies.

“You’ll be inside in a moment.”

They drive through the gate and over a cattle grid. In the side mirror Eggsy can see Stuart shutting the gate behind them.

“Harry, do you have _servants_?”

“Stuart looks after the place. A caretaker, if you like.” Harry pauses briefly before adding, “I’m sorry if that ruins any Downton Abbey fantasies you may have.”

“I do not- _what_ -“ Eggsy splutters, because if he hadn’t had them before he does _now_. He doesn’t have time to think of a good retort before Harry rounds a final bend and they’re at their destination.

It’s too dark to get a good look at the house but Eggsy has a general impression of the size of it, how surprisingly _new_ it looks, nothing like he’d imagined. Harry doesn’t give him time to look around either, whisking them both up the front steps and inside before Eggsy can get too wet and leaving Eggsy to take his jacket off while he brings their bags inside.

The entrance hall leads through to a room that’s bigger than Eggsy’s entire flat, with a high, vaulted ceiling and a huge stone fireplace that takes up most of one wall. And yet, for all its size, it’s surprisingly cosy too, filled with the same sort of furniture Harry has in his house, the sort that’s passed down through the generations and doesn’t match, and with a thick carpet underfoot. There are no photos, to Eggsy’s intense disappointment. He was hoping for some good embarrassing photos of Harry as a child.

“Gonna give me the tour, Harry?” He teases as the other man follows him in.

“Tomorrow,” Harry says. He looks tired and Eggsy feels a twinge of guilt: Harry has been driving for hours with nothing but the rain for company. “All you need to know for tonight is that the kitchen is through there.” He gestures at an archway to their left, with a darkened corridor beyond. “Our bedroom is through there.” He indicates a door to their right.

“Right,” Eggsy says, suddenly and unaccountably nervous. Which is _ridiculous_ , because he’s not some blushing virgin and he’s shared Harry’s bed before, but this feels like _more_ somehow, like something new. Like something serious.

“Are you hungry?” Harry asks, seemingly oblivious to Eggsy’s inner turmoil. “There’ll be some cold meats in the fridge, perhaps some soup.”

“Nah, I’m good,” Eggsy assures him. “Lead on.”

_Through there_ , in Harry terms, apparently means down a long corridor, up a short flight of stairs, down _another_ long corridor, and round a corner, but it’s worth the walk for his first sight of their bedroom, another large room with a vaulted ceiling, exposed wooden beams, and a bed bigger than any bed Eggsy has ever seen in his life.

“Fucking _hell_ ,” he says reverently, dropping his rucksack to the floor.

“I think I’ll have a shower,” Harry says, setting his bags down. He disappears through a further door Eggsy hadn’t even noticed in his first, awed appraisal of the room, a door that presumably leads to a bathroom.

Eggsy, left to his own devices, explores. There isn’t much furniture in the room besides the bed, a wardrobe of similar design, and an armchair in the corner. It would almost be hotel-room anonymous, if not for the intricate drawing of a butterfly on the wall. This, then, is _Harry’s_ room, and Eggsy has a sudden and strong intuition that he is, if not the _only_ person, then certainly one of the very few people Harry has ever brought here.

The bed looks incredibly inviting. Eggsy tests it with his hand and finds that it is, indeed, every bit as comfortable as it looks. He prevaricates for a moment, not wanting to seem rude or presumptuous, but temptation proves too overwhelming in the end and he strips off his clothes and slides under the duvet, nearly embarrassing himself with some sort of moan of ecstasy at how good it feels.

He’ll wait for Harry, he thinks. Harry is tired from the journey and probably sore; Eggsy can offer to rub his back, one thing can lead to another, and, well, it’s stress relief, isn’t it?

By the time Harry gets out of the shower, however, Eggsy is asleep.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first day of Harry and Eggsy's holiday - and Eggsy calls the shots for once

Eggsy wakes to an empty, silent room and daylight edging around the thick curtains. He rolls out of bed and staggers to the bathroom, idly registering the huge bathtub and the scented candles lined up on a shelf above it. Harry doesn't have anything like that in his house in London.

His rucksack is still on the floor where he left it but further investigation reveals than Harry has taken his clothes out and put everything away in the wardrobe, alongside Harry’s own clothes. The clothes Eggsy took off last night are folded neatly on the armchair, on top of a folded towel that is clearly for him.

Eggsy shaves, showers, and gets dressed. Harry’s continued absence is unsettling but Eggsy doesn’t much fancy going looking for him naked. Dressed, he feels more confident, more like himself. A quick check of his phone reveals that it’s half past eight in the morning, which explains his grumbling stomach. He must still be half-asleep though, because when Eggsy goes over to the window and makes an aborted attempt at pulling the curtains open, it takes him a minute or two to realise they’re the kind that open with a pull cord.

The windows are huge, stretching from the floor almost to the ceiling. They frame an expanse of moorland, the boundaries of which are currently shrouded in fog so dense it blends with the overcast grey sky. There’s no sign of human habitation on this side of the house, beyond the low stone wall that surrounds its garden, and there’s a bleakness to the moorland that Eggsy finds unsettling. His world is concrete and traffic fumes, the background pulse of a sleepless city, not the stark emptiness of what he sees before him. This is a foreign land for him, an alien environment he can’t rely on his instincts to navigate.

_Need to find Harry_ , he thinks.

The long corridors don’t seem as intimidating in daylight, now he can see the slightly cracked paint on the doors he passes and the way the carpet is pulling away from its runners a little on one of the short flights of stairs. Remembering Harry’s instructions from the previous night, he heads for the kitchen, and his intuition is proved correct when he opens an otherwise unremarkable door to find Harry sitting at a long wooden table with his laptop open in front of him.

“Hello, Eggsy.”

The first thing that Eggsy notices is that Harry still looks tired, like he hasn’t slept very much. There are dark, dark circles under his eyes and a general air of exhaustion that hangs over him like a cloud.

The second thing Eggsy notices is that Harry is _furious_. It’s there in the way his fingers curl on the side of his laptop and the tightness of his jaw, the undercurrent of barely-contained rage Eggsy can sense from across the room.

“Um,” he says intelligently, immediately on edge. He casts around for something to say and settles on, “Sorry I’m up late.”

“You’re not. I was expecting you to sleep in later, to be quite honest.”

“Right.” And now Eggsy is _completely_ confused, because he can’t think of anything else he’s done wrong. Except - his guilty conscience reminds him - that time he nearly hooked up with someone else. But Harry can’t _possibly_ know about that.

“Do you want some breakfast?” Harry asks abruptly.

“Um.”

Harry stands up and eyes him thoughtfully. “Are you all right?,” he asks, sounding genuinely concerned at Eggsy’s sudden inability to speak coherently. “Not coming down with something, are you?”

“You look a bit pissed off,” Eggsy blurts out before he can think better of it.

Harry looks genuinely taken aback for a split second, before his expression smoothes into something more resembling his usual equanimity.

“I’m not angry at _you_ , Eggsy. Sit down, and I’ll make you breakfast.”

Slightly reassured, Eggsy sits down. “Who are you angry at?”

Harry doesn’t reply at once. He opens the fridge and takes out eggs and bacon, and gets a saucepan from the cupboard next to the sink. “It doesn’t matter,” he says eventually. “How many rashers of bacon?”

“Three,” Eggsy says promptly, because he’s not going to turn down the offer of food from Harry even if the other man’s in a weirdly shitty mood. “Anything I can do?”

Harry is turned away but Eggsy gets a feeling he’s smiling. “No, Eggsy. But thank you for the offer. There’s some orange juice in the fridge if you want a drink.”

“Tea?”

“The kettle’s behind you. I’ll have a cup if you’re making some.”

It’s comfortable, this easy domesticity. Eggsy could get used to it, just as he could get used to three proper meals a day and the feel of Harry’s arms around him. But he’s still a bit on edge, still concerned by the simmering undercurrent of Harry’s temper, even if it’s not aimed at him on this occasion.

Harry cooks him a fried breakfast, which Eggsy eats sat at the table with Harry sat across from him tapping at his laptop while he sips his tea.

“Didn’t think you were bringing that thing with you,” Eggsy remarks, gesturing at the laptop.

“It has its uses.”

Which is another way of saying _end of discussion_. Eggsy can take a hint. “Nice house,” he says. He looks around the kitchen again. It is nice: his mum would probably love it even if it’s not really to Eggsy’s taste. It’s the sort of kitchen they feature on lifestyle tv shows. “Wherever the fuck it is.”

“We’re in the Lake District,” Harry says patiently. “About twelve miles from Kendal.”

That means nothing to Eggsy. “Is it yours?” he asks instead.

“It belongs to my family. I’m borrowing it.” Like he’s borrowing a lighter. “Anyway, eat up; I want to talk to you.”

Which doesn’t mean, as Eggsy thought at first, that Harry wants to discuss _doing things_ but rather that Harry wants to give him an envelope with £300 in cash in it, along with a key.

“That key opens the front door. Straight down the drive will take you to the lodge; you met Stuart last night. He has strict instructions to drive you to the station in Kendal if you ask him to, with no questions asked and regardless of what I say to him. There’s a train to Preston every hour or so and you can get a train back to London from there.” Harry rattles it off like he’s reading from a script, his face a carefully blank mask, like none of this matters.

“You want me to go?” Eggsy can’t believe what he’s hearing. “What the _fuck_ , Harry.”

“I didn’t say that,” Harry says, his voice even more clipped than usual.

“Then what’s this?” Eggsy points at the envelope, lying on the table between them like an unexploded bomb. He doesn’t want to look at it let alone touch it. “And, _bad idea_? Bit fucking late for that, Harry. For fuck’s sake.”

Harry stands up and Eggsy can’t help tensing, even if he manages not to push his own chair back. Harry notices the movement, grimaces, and strides over to the window instead, putting distance between them. It’s only a couple of metres but it might as well be a couple of miles as far as Eggsy’s concerned.

“What’s going on, Harry?” he asks.

Harry doesn’t look at him. “Take the envelope, please.”

“You can’t buy me, Harry,” Eggsy says through gritted teeth. “We talked about this.”

“I’m very well aware of the circumstances,” Harry says. He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. “That’s not what it’s for.”

“Then what _is_ it for?”

Harry puts his glasses back on and turns his head to look out at the bleak moorland. The fog isn’t any better on this side of the house; if anything, it’s worse. “I always forget the problem with long drives on the motorway,” he says meditatively. “It gives one time to think. And of course it occurred to me during the drive up here yesterday what a monumentally bad idea this is.”

“This?” Eggsy is proud of how steady his voice sounds.

“Coming up here.” Harry waves a hand as if to indicate the house and, by extension, the two of them. “It wasn’t fair. I realise that now.”

“Harry, I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about. Do you want to start making sense any time soon?”

Harry finally looks at Eggsy. “Do you remember when we talked about you wanting to do things for me?”

Eggsy feels his face heating. “Yeah, of course. What’s that got to do with coming here?”

“And I explained that it’s important to get it right,” Harry continues, ignoring the interruption. “Because it would be very easy, in certain circumstances, for you to go along with something for the wrong reasons.”

“Harry-”

“It would be very easy,” Harry continues, not letting Eggsy finish, “for me to take advantage of your desire to please me.”

“I trust you, Harry,” Eggsy interrupts, by now thoroughly exasperated. He’d thought they’d settled this. “Listen to me, yeah? I trust you.”

Harry’s expression twists a little. “I’ve brought you up here, away from everyone you know and everything you’re familiar with. Alone, with no money, no way of contacting anyone - don’t even bother with your phone; there’s no signal - and no one to go to for help.”

“I know you’re not a fucking serial killer, Harry.” Except that’s not entirely accurate: Harry could have killed dozens of people for all Eggsy knows. Probably has. _Licence to kill_ , Eggsy thinks, only a little hysterically. _S_ _’all right if it’s for Queen and country, right?_

 “And that’s not fair,” Harry says, ignoring the interruption. “I can’t have you thinking that you have to go along with whatever I want you to do because you’re trapped here. I can’t- I can’t go along with that. So, I’ve instructed Stuart to take you to the station if you want to go, and I’ve told him explicitly to ignore any counter instructions from me in that regard. The money is to buy a train ticket home, if you need to. I need you to know that you are free to leave whenever you like.”

“I-“ Eggsy doesn’t know what to say. He’s floundering, aware that there’s something behind Harry’s words, something unsettling, but not knowing how to phrase the question, or even whether he should. It almost sounds like personal experience on Harry’s part.

“I need you to know that you can leave, Eggsy,” Harry says quietly.

“I’ve always fucking known that,” Eggsy says exasperatedly. He pushes his chair back at last and stands up. “Look, I know what you’re trying to do and that’s _fine_ , really it is,  but I don’t want to leave. I _trust_ you, Harry. And maybe,” he adds hurriedly, before Harry can interrupt, “you don’t trust yourself. But that’s why I know I’ll be ok with you. Because no one is keeping a closer eye on you than you are on yourself.”

For what feels like an eternity, Harry just _stands_ there, motionless as a statue, and Eggsy starts to wonder if he’s ever going to speak again. “Gary Unwin,” he says eventually, “you’ve become something of a philosopher.”

“Maybe I always was, _Harry Hart_.” The distance between them doesn’t feel as great now. Eggsy halts right in front of Harry, his fingertips grazing Harry’s arm. “Lots you don’t know about me.”

“Is that so,” Harry says neutrally, like he hasn’t noticed Eggsy’s touch. “Anything you’d like to share?”

And something about the way he says it, something about the way he stands so very still, stirs a memory of a long-ago conversation, echoes of Harry’s voice in his head. “I was thinking,” Eggsy says with faux-confidence, like the idea hasn’t just occurred to him, “that maybe we could try it with you, with you keeping still for me.”

The request doesn’t come out quite as firmly as Eggsy would have liked but Harry’s expression, for a fleeting moment, makes it all worthwhile. Surprised, bordering on startled, but not displeased. Not at all.

"What did you have in mind, Eggsy?"

In lieu of a response, Eggsy slides his hands around Harry's wrists. That he can't do so easily only serves to remind him how powerful Harry's hands are, how much strength rests in those corded muscles and strong bones. Harry lets him do it, lets Eggsy guide his hands down to his sides, and that’s thrilling too, the knowledge that Harry will submit himself to Eggsy’s wishes if Eggsy asks.

"Keep them there, yeah?"

This is different from talking back to Harry, different again from any other conversation he's ever had with Harry. There's weight behind his words now, even if he can't quite force himself to sound as confident as he'd like.

"You can talk," he says belatedly. "You don't have keep quiet or nothing."

"Much obliged, Eggsy," Harry says equably. He doesn't seem concerned by what Eggsy is doing, only a little curious.

"This is all right, yeah?"

"Yes, it's all right," Harry confirms. "I'll tell you if it's not."

"Should we, like, have a safe word or something?"

Harry turns a strangely intense gaze on him. "What are you planning to do with me, Eggsy?"

Eggsy has no easy answer to the question; his thought process hadn't gone much beyond the urge to see if Harry would go through with his offer. He tells Harry that.

"Ah," Harry says with a slight smile. "Clearly I will."

"Yeah. You don't like being tied up, do you?" Eggsy is proud of himself for remembering that and he thinks Harry is pleased as well. "And I want, I want to see if you can hold still while I suck you off. If that's ok," he adds belatedly.

Harry does not do a particularly good job of hiding his smile. "Yes, Eggsy; that's ok. Here?"

"Yeah, here." Anyone walking past would get a good view but the thing is, they're in the middle of nowhere and there's no one to walk past the window. No one to see Eggsy slide to his knees on the kitchen floor and reach up to unfasten Harry's trousers. No one to see that Harry is as up for this as Eggsy is.

"How long have you been thinking about doing this?" Harry asks. Caught off-guard, Eggsy answers without thinking.

"Harry, I think about sucking you off about fifty times a day."

Harry's amused snort turns into a strangled moan as Eggsy opens his mouth and just _breathes_ over the flushed head of his cock. In his peripheral vision Eggsy can see the flexing of Harry’s arms as he struggles to hold still and he grins to himself.

“Want to get hold of my hair, don’t you, Harry?” he teases. “Push my head down and make me take it.”

“That could still happen,” Harry says, a little breathlessly.

“Nope.” Eggsy settles his hands on Harry’s thighs. “You said you’d stay still, and you’re a man of your word, aren’t you? A _gentleman_.”

Harry groans, low in his throat, as Eggsy’s hands slide higher, but he stays still like Eggsy wanted him to, only the minute tremors of his thighs betraying him as Eggsy places a series of light, delicate kisses down the length of his cock. Eggsy is tempted to see how far he could push Harry, maybe far enough to break Harry’s self-control, but he wants to suck Harry’s cock too much for that. He settles himself more comfortably on his knees and leans forward to take Harry into his mouth.

“ _Eggsy_ …” Harry breathes, the name like a prayer on his lips. Eggsy thrills to the sound of it and the slide of Harry’s cock over his tongue. The tiled floor is hard on his knees but Eggsy doesn’t mind the discomfort - if anything it’s the perfect counterpoint to everything else; it stops him getting lost in his own head, anchoring him in the here and now. It lets him listen to Harry’s increasingly uneven breathing, and lets him revel in the noises Harry makes when Eggsy takes him in deep, and the strangled, almost desperate sound Harry makes when Eggsy lets his cock slip from his mouth.

“Nearly there, yeah?” Eggsy can hear the roughness in his own voice. He glances up, and nearly comes in his pants when he gets a look at Harry, because Harry looks _wild,_ like he’s barely holding on to his self-control. Yet his hands are still clamped to the sides of the chair, though Eggsy thinks it must be half-killing him to keep them there.

It’s exhilarating, really, to know that _he_ _’s_ been the one to do this, that he has this effect on Harry. That Harry is doing what Eggsy asked, trusting Eggsy not to take advantage even as Eggsy drives him to the edge of reason. He thinks he understands more of what Harry tried to tell him now, about the power he gives to Harry, and the power Harry gives to him. It feels like the pieces are slotting into place, an understanding of himself he’s never really had before.

“Like this,” he says encouragingly, giving Harry’s cock a slow, teasing stroke as he positions himself so that his intent is obvious. He sees the moment Harry realises, the darkening of his eyes and the shuddering breath he lets out. “I know you like this. You do, don’t you?”

“You have no idea,” Harry says hoarsely. “Eggsy-”

“Do it,” Eggsy says. He can feel how close Harry is, how little is needed to tip him over the edge, and he has no intention of letting Harry fall victim to his own good intentions. “Come on my face, Harry.”

The sound Harry makes is almost inhuman, a cry ripped from the depths of his soul. Eggsy distinctly hears the sound of wood splintering as Harry comes but it’s subsumed by the roaring in his ears as Harry’s cum stripes his face. Before Harry, he wouldn’t ever have wanted this, wouldn’t have let anyone do it to him, but with Harry it’s something else entirely, something intense and primal, and he feels giddy with it, light-headed, unwilling to move even when he hears Harry’s breathing even out and feels Harry’s hands - finally - in his hair.

“Eggsy,” Harry says, sounding as out of breath as Eggsy feels.

Eggsy hums happily and bumps his head against Harry’s hand. Harry hesitates for a moment, before combing his fingers through Eggsy’s hair.

“You’re a mess,” he says. “Let me get a cloth.”

“I’ll have a shower in a bit.” Eggsy doesn’t really want to move. It’s something he’ll think about later, why he likes kneeling in front of Harry with Harry’s cum on his face. “It’s your fault I’m a mess, anyway.”

“Hence my offer of a cloth,” Harry says wryly. “Eggsy, that was-” He breaks off.

“Fucking amazing? Best blowjob you’ve ever had?”

“Something like that.”

Eggsy grins, resting his head against Harry’s leg. “You should go back to bed for a bit,” he says. “You look really tired.”

“Oh, thank you, Eggsy.”

“You know what I mean. Didn’t sleep much, did you?”

“No,” Harry admits after a brief pause. “Well, perhaps a quick nap. I have something planned for this afternoon.”

“Something with me?” Eggsy asks hopefully.

“Oh yes,” Harry says, sounding amused. “I’m going to teach you to shoot properly. Ever handled a Glock 17?”

“No. Which you probably know,” Eggsy adds, remembering the thought he’d pushed away at the time. “Did a background check on me, didn’t you? Because I’ve never told you my proper name.”

Harry snorts inelegantly. He doesn’t deny it though. Eggsy wonders if it’s a standard thing for a spy, to trust no one. Maybe, he thinks, it’s just part of the job.

“Are you going for a shower?”

“In a bit,” Eggsy says, getting to his feet. He winces as cramped muscles protest.

“Eggsy,” Harry says, catching hold of his arm. Tired he might be but his gaze is as intense as ever. “Are you all right?” _Not just physically_ is the unspoken question.

Eggsy bites back the instinctive glib answer. “Yeah,” he says after a moment’s consideration. “It was good. Are you? I should have checked, shouldn’t I?”

“I’m fine, Eggsy,” Harry assures him. “You could make us both a cup of tea though.”

 “I’ll bring it to you in bed. Sleep for an hour or two and then you can do whatever you like to me this afternoon.”

Harry looks like he’s thinking about protesting but exhaustion seemingly wins out over pride and he goes, pausing only to throw a hand towel at Eggsy as the door swings closed. Eggsy grins to himself as he wets it under the tap, wiping his face clean.

He realises, when he turns around, that Harry’s laptop is still open on the table. Idle curiosity makes him tap at the keyboard to wake it up; it’s locked, of course. But it reminds him of how angry Harry had been when he’d walked into the kitchen. Not at Eggsy but at something or someone outside. Eggsy looks out at the impenetrable shroud of fog wrapping around the house, and shivers.

He makes the tea as Harry asked, but by the time Eggsy gets to the bedroom with Harry’s cup the other man is fast asleep.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Eggsy's little holiday continues, with Harry showing Eggsy around and Eggsy coming to a realisation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally going to be one chapter, but then plot points kept being added in and it was getting ridiculously long so I split it into two. I think the pacing works better this way.

Harry sleeps for an hour and a half, just long enough for Eggsy to watch _The Italian Job_ \- the original one - on the TV he finds in a small sitting room next to the kitchen. He's so engrossed in the film that he doesn't hear Harry coming until Harry opens the door.

"Ah, I wondered where you were. I see you found the television"

He looks much better, even after such a small amount of sleep, and Eggsy likes to think he had a part to play in that. He looks more like _Harry_. Even so, Eggsy asks:

“This is all right, yeah?"

"Yes, of course." Harry looks faintly surprised at the question. "I thought you'd go exploring the house, that's all."

Eggsy shrugs. "Didn't seem polite." Which is both the truth and not, because in any other situation Eggsy probably would have taken the opportunity to look round the house. He suspects Harry knows or guesses the real reason: Eggsy has been in a constant state of semi-hardness since he dropped to his knees for Harry in the kitchen. His arousal simmers in the background of his consciousness, not particularly intrusive or urgent but never distant enough to ignore completely, either.

Harry peers at the TV, which is playing the end credits. “Oh, excellent choice of film.”

“Seen it before. Still good, though.”

“Want to go for a walk?”

Eggsy blinks, taken aback. Harry must see his surprise because he adds:

"I said we'd get some target practice, didn't I? It's forecast to rain later so I thought we'd go out now."

Which is how Eggsy finds himself tramping across an expanse of muddy grass behind Harry, wearing a pair of very new and suspiciously well-fitting walking boots and a similarly new waterproof jacket cut in a similar style to Harry's own. Maybe it’s what posh people wear in the countryside, but while Harry somehow still manages to look stylish in the get-up, Eggsy suspects he just looks as far out of his comfort zone as he feels.

The fog is as thick as ever but Harry seems to know where he's going and Eggsy follows him closely. Over a stile on a low stone wall and into another expanse of grass, only here Eggsy can see three targets set up on posts in the distance, human-shaped and sized. When he turns his head, he can't see the house at all. They might as well be the only two people on earth.

"You learnt to use a rifle in the army, of course," Harry remarks casually, setting down the rucksack he's carrying.

"Yeah." It was a long time ago, but Eggsy thinks he remembers most of it. He'd been a good shot, to: the best in his training cohort. The thought of impressing Harry, of showing him how good Eggsy can be, sends a warm thrill through him.

“This," Harry says, unzipping the rucksack, "is a Glock 17, as used by most armed police in this country. And the Royal Marines. If you’d progressed further in your training you’d have handled one, but you know the basics of firearms safety, don’t you?“

Eggsy nods. “Yeah. With a rifle.”

“Good. As long as you know enough not to shoot me by mistake. You’ll want these.” Harry throws him some ear defenders.

“Kinky.”

“Not now, Eggsy. Put them on.”

Eggsy complies, craning his head to get a better look at what Harry is up to with the Glock. “What if someone calls the police?”

“They won’t. Here.”

Eggsy takes the gun from him, handling it somewhat gingerly. “I’m not gonna get jumped on by armed response or nothing just for holding it, am I?”

Harry rolls his eyes theatrically. "Yes, Eggsy, there's a whole team of them hiding behind that sheep over there.”

"Fuck off," Eggsy says without heat. “You’ve got enough ammo in there to start a fucking war. So, we going to have a competition or what? Best shot wins?”

“Something like that.”

Harry, Eggsy quickly discovers, is both an excellent shot and an unforgiving teacher. It's not enough for Eggsy to hit the targets, or even to hit the targets where they were taught in his Army basic training. This isn’t a game on Harry’s part; there’s nothing sexual in the way he meticulously corrects Eggsy’s stance and grip until he’s reliably hitting the chosen target with every shot. And then Harry makes him repeat the exercise again. And again: different distances, different angles, different target areas, until Eggsy's muscles are aching with exertion and his ears are ringing despite the ear defenders.

“Not bad,” Harry says, after what Eggsy thinks is a particularly good shot. "Shall we try again with smaller targets? You have a tendency to overshoot a little when you’re crouching down.”

By the end of it Eggsy hates Harry Hart with a vengeance and would happily throw the Glock into a ditch if he was still capable of raising his arm. The fog has lifted a little, enough that Eggsy can see the earth bank behind the targets, serving both to muffle the sound of the gunshots and prevent a random passer-by from being struck by a stray shot. There’s thought there, like this isn't something Harry just decided on out of the blue.

_Training_ , he thinks in a sudden flash of insight. _That's what all of this is_. There's a reason Harry signed him up to and paid for a gym, just like there’s a reason Harry’s teaching him to shoot like a paid assassin.

_He’s training me up like him. Like a spy._

Eggsy stares at Harry as the other man returns from his inspection of the targets and holds out his hand for the Glock. Now he’s thought about it, he can’t see any other explanation. The only question is why Harry is doing it in the first place and what, exactly, he’s training Eggsy for.

"Very well done, Eggsy,” Harry says warmly, unaware of Eggsy’s epiphany. “Those last shots especially were very good."

Eggsy had barely aimed those three shots, too tired to care about accuracy and relying on instinct alone. Perhaps, he thinks, that's the answer: think less, react more. Maybe that's the lesson Harry is trying to teach him.

“You’re a pretty good shot yourself,” he says.

Harry preens at the compliment, just a little, but Eggsy will take that mildly smug expression over the exhaustion and anger of earlier in the day any time. “Come on,” he says, taking the Glock from Eggsy’s hand. “It’s probably time we headed back. We’ll take the long way back."

Which means, Eggsy discovers, that Harry wants to give him a quick tour of the immediate environs of the house, despite the rapidly-falling temperature. He walks them down to the main gate and back up the drive, and then around the house itself to a building that looks much older than the house itself, and in much worse condition.

“The old stable block,” Harry explains as they walk across a cobblestone courtyard. “The house used to be a hunting lodge, you see, before it burnt down in 1924. The main house was rebuilt in the Thirties, and this was turned into a convalescent hospital during the war. My grandfather did a little restoration but it’s been barely used for the last forty years.”

“Right,” Eggsy says, warily eyeing the derelict building. “And we’re going into it why?”

“Because I want to show you something.”

Eggsy follows him towards the stable block. His initial reaction, from the exterior, is that the place is creepy as hell, and his first glimpse of the interior doesn’t do much to change that. The room they’re standing in is small and gloomy, with old-fashioned wallpaper peeling off the walls and cracked floor tiles under his feet. It’s the kind of place that features in ghost hunter tv shows and recreated murder scenes on _Crimewatch_ and it makes Eggsy shiver for reasons that have nothing to do with the temperature. He can’t imagine why Harry wanted to bring him here, until Harry leads him through into another, larger room and _shows_ him the reason.

“Fuck,” Eggsy says faintly. He feels like every scrap of oxygen has been punched out of his lungs.

Harry goes over to the workbench set up next to two large packing cases and runs his hand almost casually over the … things lying there. “You can touch them if you like,” he tells Eggsy.

It’s not a command but Eggsy is on the move almost before his brain gives a conscious instruction to do so, greedy fingers reaching for the workbench and its exhibits. “You didn’t have these in the car,” he says accusingly.

“No, I was up here a couple of weeks ago. Do you want me to explain what they are?”

“These are for my wrists, right?” They’re not like the handcuffs, which Eggsy can get out of easily if he wishes. These are thick, heavy metal cuffs, lined with leather, connected by a length of chain. Eggsy doesn’t think he could get out of them.

“Yes. And those are for your ankles. The rigid bar between them holds your legs apart.” Harry says it like he’s talking about the weather or what they’re having for dinner. “There are various options, I suppose. You can pick what you’d like to try, or not.”

“Harry,” Eggsy begins, and then stops, because he has no real idea what to say. He’s no expert on buying restraints that look like they came out of a _dungeon_ but everything laid out looks expensive and new, and even by his naive calculations Harry has spent more than a few hundred pounds on him. And Harry came up here beforehand, to get ready, to set this up for him in a building that isn’t actually as derelict as it had looked from outside. He's torn between wanting to run out of the door because it's _too much_ or falling to his knees and begging Harry to lock every single piece of metalwork he can see on him right now.

As if Harry knows what he’s thinking, the other man says:

“I bought these because I thought you would enjoy trying them out, and I would enjoy seeing you wear them. So mostly for my own selfish reasons. But it’s your choice; I won’t force you to try any of it.”

“Well then.” Eggsy straightens up. His hand fumbles for the cuffs. They’re heavier than he thought; steel. “How about these?”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “Now?”

“Can't hardly lift my arms anyway. Might as well. Not too tight though, yeah?”

“No, not too tight.” There’s something in the way Harry’s expression subtly shifts as he says it, a hint of softness in his eyes, that takes away any trepidation Eggsy might have felt. “My apologies if they’re a little cold.”

It’s warmer in this room than it was outside but Eggsy still shivers when Harry takes the cuffs from him and their fingers brush against each other. Harry gives him a sharp look but doesn't say anything. He takes hold of Eggsy’s left arm and carefully pushes the sleeve of his jacket up to expose the wrist. Eggsy watches closely, biting his lip as Harry places the first cuff around his wrist. It’s not like the handcuffs, that just snap closed: these cuffs have a little bolt that locks the two halves closed, that Harry has to tighten with a special tool. It feels more serious, somehow. More _permanent_.

“How’s that?” Harry says when he’s fastened the first one.

“Heavy,” Eggsy says honestly. He flexes his wrist, testing how much movement he has. “Doesn’t hurt though.” Despite the weight, the cuff is comfortable, the padded lining soft against his skin.

“It shouldn't hurt at all. It was made for you, so it shouldn’t pinch.”

“Made for?” Eggsy stares at Harry in bemusement as the man takes hold of his other arm. “You had them _made_ for me?”

“Yes, Eggsy,” Harry says, with only a hint of a smile as he closes the other cuff around Eggsy’s wrist, and the time it takes him to fasten the bolt gives Eggsy enough time to think about how long it would have taken to make all this for him, and how Harry must have worked out Eggsy’s measurements without him knowing, because the cuffs do indeed conform perfectly to the dimensions of his wrists.

“Harry,” he says carefully. “Did you measure me up while I was asleep?”

Harry snorts inelegantly. “No.” Before Eggsy can pry any further, he adds, “Now, how does that feel?”

Eggsy experimentally moves his arms. The chain connecting the cuffs allows him a certain amount of movement. “It’s all right, yeah.”

“We’re going to go back to the house: is that enough or would you like something else?” Harry indicates the workbench to make it clear what he means.

Harry’s going to walk him back like this, outside, with his wrists chained. Just the thought of it makes Eggsy light-headed, even if logically he knows that it doesn’t matter because there’s no one around to see.

“Are we doing anything?” He doesn’t need to specify; he knows Harry understands what he means.

Harry shakes his head. “No, not yet. I’ll make us something to eat and I think a shower would warm us both up, wash the mud off. Later on, I do want to do something. His hand settles lightly on Eggsy’s wrist, his thumb rubbing against the sensitive skin on the inside of Eggsy’s wrist, just above the cuff. “I want to push you a little bit tonight, if that’s all right.”

“Fuck, yeah,” Eggsy says without thinking, and immediately winces, because that’s exactly the kind of thing Harry was so worried about. “I mean, yeah. Ok. I don’t mind trying something out and I will tell you if it’s bad and I know I can leave. Ok?”

The frown that was forming on Harry’s face melts away into a small but genuine smile. “Yes, Eggsy,” he says. “That’s ok. Come on. It looks like it’s started raining and I don’t want you falling over on the cobbles.”

Eggsy takes a last glance at the workbench, and the room they’re standing in. There’s a door at the far end of the room that looks new, and it has a lock and a bolt on it that also look new. It makes him shiver all over again, but not in apprehension. Harry must see and understand his expression because he says, almost as an aside:

“I’ve had some work done on the stable block, over the last few months.”

“What kind of work?”

Maybe it’s the fading light that makes Harry’s face particularly inscrutable at that moment but Eggsy can’t read anything into his expression when he says, “Nothing I’d want to explain to my mother. You’ll see tomorrow.”

“You can’t leave it hanging like that,” Eggsy objects, but Harry just shakes his head in that infuriating way of his.

“Tomorrow.”

They go back to the house, with Harry walking unobtrusively close at Eggsy’s side. Not making a big deal of it but clearly ready to catch hold of him if Eggsy slips. He doesn’t, although he feels his feet at the point of sliding on the damp cobbles a couple of times. The weight of the cuffs around his wrists and the motion of the chain against his jacket are a constant reminder that he’s wearing them but it doesn’t feel as jarring as he’d thought it might, although he can’t help looking around to check that there’s no one to see.

But then, he thinks, he’s not sure he’d mind if there _was_ anyone to see. The thought of it makes his heart race, makes his stomach turn over in trepidation and anticipated humiliation, but there’s another part of him that wants it, that wants people to see that he’s _Harry’s_.

“You gonna let me wear these in London?” he asks indolently, raising the cuffs to make it clear what he means. “Or are they just for here?”

Harry opens the door to the house before he says, “Are you asking me if you can wear them out in public?”

Eggsy shifts uncomfortably. “Yeah? Maybe. Haven’t really thought about it.”

“I don’t believe in forcing other people to take part in my fantasies,” Harry says, rather stiffly.

“That’s not what I-“

“Yes it is,” Harry says sharply and Eggsy doesn’t need him to go on to understand what he means. A game he and Harry play isn’t something they can draw other people into without asking. He feels a little bit ashamed for his own interest in the idea, but Harry reaches for his hand before his thoughts can run too far down that line, his thumb rubbing lightly against the underside of Eggsy’s wrist again, as he adds:

“And I’m very selfish, Eggsy. I want to keep you all to myself.”

“So you fantasise about locking me up then, do you?” Eggsy says cheekily. He doesn’t get a chance to elaborate: Harry has him pressed up against the wall before he can catch his breath, a hand in his hair, the other possessively on his hip. Eggsy is acutely aware of the height difference between them in a way he isn’t usually, the way Harry towers over him as he holds him still, the raw power in the grip Harry has on him.

“Is that what you’d like, Eggsy?” A roll of his hips against Eggsy’s body to leave no doubt as to his interest. “Locked tight in restraints. Held still for me, unable to move?”

Eggsy moans, his hands clutching helplessly at the front of Harry’s jacket. “Yeah,” he breathes. “ _Fuck_ yeah.”

Harry pulls away, disengaging completely. Eggsy tries to move with him, frowning at the sudden loss of contact, and Harry grants him a brief, chaste kiss.

“Later, Eggsy. Let’s get something to eat first.”

“I can think of something better than food.” Eggsy looks pointedly at Harry’s crotch as he says it, even though he knows it’s a hopeless endeavour. Harry’s iron self-control is maddening, more so now Eggsy knows it can be broken, from time to time.

But now is not one of those times. “ _Later_ ,” Harry says as he unhooks the chain that links the cuffs. “Take your boots off and hang your jacket on one of the pegs over there.”

“Fucking tease.” It’s said without any particular heat and Harry doesn’t seem offended. And Eggsy is, despite his simmering arousal, hungry, and willing to wait for whatever Harry has in mind because he knows it’s going to be worth it. Harry hasn’t spent this much money and put in however much time for it not to be worth it.

Harry cooks some sort of pasta Eggsy doesn’t recognise - he mostly knows microwave lasagne and his mum’s spag bol - and they eat it at the kitchen table with the rain hammering at the windows.

“It’s the fresh air,” Harry says with a knowing glance at Eggsy’s empty plate when they’re done. “Works up an appetite.”

“I can think of a few things that’d work up an appetite.”

“I’m sure. How are your wrists?”

“Fine.” The cuffs aren’t particularly constricting, despite their weight. He can eat easily enough.

“Good. And the rest of you?”

“Fucking sore,” Eggsy admits, not seeing the point in lying. “Cold.”

“Go and have a shower.” Harry stands up. “That’ll help you warm up. We’ll see what we can do for the rest afterwards.”

“Or I could tidy up in here while you have a shower,” Eggsy counters and he can tell immediately that Harry is pleased by the suggestion.

“Yes, all right.”

It’s getting dark outside and Eggsy tries not to stare too much at his own reflection in the window as he loads the dishwasher, tries not to give in to his fascination with the image of himself with the cuffs around his wrists. Harry hooked the chain back on before he went for a shower and the additional weight - and the pull when he moves his hands too far apart - is a constant reminder of Harry’s hold on him. It’s not unpleasant. It’s very _far_ from being unpleasant, and Eggsy feels a pang of disappointment when Harry comes back and removes the cuffs so Eggsy can take his shower without getting the leather padding wet.

Harry is almost out of the room when he pauses and says casually, like he’s commenting on the weather:

“I’d be grateful if you could shave your pubic hair for me, Eggsy. There’s a spare razor next to the sink.”

“I- What?” Eggsy is aware he probably looks like a landed fish but he’s not sure what to say to that. “Why?”

“You’ll see,” Harry says, in the way he has that means the conversation is at an end.

Eggsy pulls a face at his retreating back and tries to work out what Harry’s up to, but his imagination gives up somewhere around Harry giving him a blowjob and he goes for a shower.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry has some evening entertainment for Eggsy...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry is, as we go through this chapter, actually being very careful with Eggsy - which hopefully comes across - but there's still bondage that goes beyond just tying hands and some consensual pain play. And sub drop at the end (partly for reasons that will become clear in the next chapter). If those things really aren't your bag, please feel free to skip this chapter: you're not going to miss huge chunks of plot ;)

 It wasn’t a command, exactly. Just a wish expressed. But, after a few seconds of internal debate, Eggsy picks up the razor and Harry’s shaving foam.

It’s a weird sensation when he’s done, water running over skin that feels a hundred times more sensitive than it did before. Eggsy palms his balls experimentally, trying to work out if he likes it or not. Trying to work out whether this is something else that Harry likes and if he’ll want Eggsy to do this all the time, which Eggsy isn’t sure he wants to do. It distracts him enough that he spends longer than he intended in the bathroom, long enough that he starts to worry that Harry might have fallen asleep again by the time he finally emerges, towel slung around his hips.

“Um, sorry,” he says when he sees Harry sitting on the bed, very much awake and dressed. “Lost track of time.”

“That’s all right,” Harry says easily. “Come here.”

“We going to fuck?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I was going to offer to rub your back and arms, if they still hurt.”

“Right.” Eggsy tries not to sound too disappointed. He lets his towel fall to the floor and climbs onto the bed. “How d’you want me, Harry?”

“Oh, like this is perfectly fine. Try not to rub one off on the bed.”

“Such a charmer, Harr- oh fuck.”

He can _hear_ the satisfied smirk in Harry’s voice. “Something wrong, Eggsy?”

“That’s fucking cold, Harry!” Eggsy writhes as Harry rubs more of some sort of lotion on his back.

“Sorry,” Harry says, not sounding remotely apologetic. “Perhaps I should have warmed it up first.”

“Twat,” Eggsy mumbles. He’d make more of it except that Harry’s hands are working their magic on his aching muscles, easing out the tension with a combination of long, soothing strokes and a firm circular rubbing at certain points that make Eggsy feel like he’s about to melt into a contented puddle on the bed. By the time Harry’s done Eggsy feels both a hundred times better than he did before and acutely sensitised to Harry’s touch. Harry’s so close, pressed up against him on the bed, and Eggsy thinks he wouldn’t mind if Harry fucked him like this, just pressed him down to the bed and _took_ him.

“Turn onto your back,” Harry says, breaking Eggsy’s reverie.

Eggsy reluctantly complies; he doesn’t really want to move at all. He perks up when he sees the rope in Harry’s hands though. “You going to tie me up?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Harry’s hand settles on his hip. “Thank you for doing as I asked. It makes it easier if I can see what I’m doing.”

“What you’re- oh fuck.”

Harry looks up from where he’s wrapped a loop of rope around Eggsy’s balls. “Something wrong, Eggsy?”

“No,” Eggsy says. His voice breaks in the middle of the word as Harry wraps another turn of the rope around his balls. “Fuck!”

It doesn’t hurt. Harry moves with practised ease, and the rope itself is soft and never pulled too taut. It’s just … unsettling, and somehow more intimate than just about everything else they’ve ever done.

“How does that feel?” Harry says when he’s done, idly thumbing Eggsy’s left nipple.

“Weird,” Eggsy says honestly, trying to get a good look at what Harry’s done. He’s half-hard, as he has been ever since he saw the chains in the stable block, but the snug pressure of the rope is a disconcerting sensation. “Not bad. Just weird.”

“Tell me if it gets too much.” Harry switches his attentions to Eggsy’s right nipple, smiling as Eggsy shudders at the sensation.

“What’s it for?”

“For you? You’ll be more sensitive to touch and of course you have the feeling of being bound.”

“That’s it?”

“Oh, I could be much more unkind if I wanted to.” The quirk of Harry’s lips belies any ill intent behind the words. “I could tie you in a way that would make it very unpleasant for you to get hard, or very difficult if not impossible for you to come.” His gaze flickers briefly to Eggsy’s cock, hardening in response to his words. “But I have something else planned for you downstairs. Come on. Do you need help standing up?”

“What, we’re going for a fucking walk now?” Eggsy says disbelievingly, gesturing at his crotch as Harry gets to his feet. Harry just _stands_ there, silently waiting for him, and eventually Eggsy gives in and rolls gracelessly off the bed. Harry has left the free end of the rope loose and it hangs down between his legs, brushing against his inner thighs.

“Better not be going far, Harry,” Eggsy grumbles, more for show than anything. It’s not painful to walk, just uncomfortable and more than a little bit awkward.

“Really, Eggsy, I thought you liked the idea of being on display.”

Whether it was Harry’s intention or not, Eggsy is instantly assailed by the mental image of Harry showing him off like this, maybe with his arms chained like they were before. Or chained behind his back, so he can’t even cover himself. He feels his face heating. Going by the expression on Harry’s face, the other man knows exactly what he’s thinking.

“It’s a fucking huge house, that’s all,” Eggsy mumbles.

“Sadly so.” And Harry turns away, giving him time to regain some composure. “When the house was rebuilt, my family took the opportunity to expand it. Before 1924 I think the proportions were slightly more sensible.”

“But no one lives here now, right?”

Harry checks that Eggsy is following him before stepping out into the corridor. “No.”

“Surprised you don’t. Could have all your butterflies and shit all over the place up here.”

“I like London,” Harry says without missing a beat.

Eggsy follows Harry back to the big room downstairs. The fire is burning in the grate and there’s a mostly untouched glass of whisky on the little table next to one of the armchairs. There’s also some sort of metal stand in the middle of the floor, too; legs in the shape of an ‘A’ at each end and a thick bar between them. Eggsy can’t see the point of it.

“Warm enough?” Harry asks.

“Yeah.” Despite the size of the room, it’s cosy, pleasantly warm and lit only be a couple of wall lights and the flickering fire. The arm cuffs are on another side table. _His_ cuffs. They look heavier in this light, and they feel heavier when Harry fastens them around his wrists. Eggsy holds out his wrists in expectation of Harry connecting them with the chain again but Harry shakes his head and turns Eggsy to face away from him.

“Behind your back.”

Eggsy swallows thickly as Harry brings his wrists together behind his back and links the cuffs with something much shorter than the chain. It’s more like being handcuffed, except he knows he can’t get out of these restraints.

“I thought,” Harry says conversationally, turning Eggsy back to face him, “that we’d try this as well. Is that all right?”

“More than all right.” Eggsy can’t help swaying towards him as Harry kneels to fasten the cuffs around his ankles. They’re thicker than the ones on his wrists, but not much heavier. The bar that goes between them is heavy though, and when Harry stands back up Eggsy discovers that he can’t move his legs further apart or closer together.

“Kneel down for me, Eggsy,” Harry says quietly, and there’s a timbre in his voice that goes straight to Eggsy’s cock, straight to the part of him that wants to give this man anything and everything he asks for. He drops to his knees, dimly registering the fact that Harry has placed a soft cushion on the floor for him. Harry’s hand between his shoulder blades encourages him to fold forward, until he’s resting on another cushion placed in front of him. Perfectly positioned, he thinks, in the small part of his brain that’s still capable of rational thought, for Harry to fuck him. And he thinks he will, when he feels the blunt tip of Harry’s finger pressing against his hole.

“Please,” he manages. His voice sounds weak and thready, nothing like his usual tone. He tries to move his legs further apart, to give Harry better access, but the restraints frustrate every attempt at movement.

“Having trouble, Eggsy?” Harry says, sounding amused.

Eggsy twists his hands, trying to get hold of the little bolts that secure the cuffs. They’re almost impossible to grasp, though, and even when he does he can’t get leverage to do anything with them. And knowing that he _can’t_ get free, coupled with the weight and solidity of the steel holding him, is intoxicating, a rush like nothing he’s felt before.

“I said I was going to push you tonight,” Harry continues. “And I will. But not more than I think you can take. Than I think you’ll enjoy taking.”

Eggsy moans as Harry’s finger pushes inside. Whatever lube he’s using, it’s not the usual one he favours and the entry isn’t as easy as it usually is, teetering on the edge between discomfort and pain. “Yeah, please,” he breathes. “Please, Harry.”

Harry’s finger is withdrawn briefly. “You might have noticed I like to give you something of a dilemma. Watching you trying to decide between two courses of action is always entertaining.” A second intrusion, easier than the first.

Which means, Eggsy deduces, that Harry wants to tie him in an uncomfortable position, like he has before. He bites his lip as Harry’s finger sinks deeper into him. It’s not comfortable. Not painful, either, but Eggsy isn’t quite sure where Harry is going with this. His preparation feels more cursory than usual and Eggsy can’t help the half-disappointed, half-pleading whine that comes out of his mouth when Harry’s finger is again withdrawn.

“It’s all right, Eggsy,” Harry says.

“It’s fucking not,” Eggsy grumbles.

Harry laughs. “Do you want something inside you, Eggsy?”

“You know I do.”

Harry rubs his back soothingly. “All right, I’m not going to keep you waiting.”

This time it’s not Harry’s finger pressing against him but something colder, harder. Not one of his glass plugs, either; this feels different and it’s smaller and and much lighter inside him. When it’s fully seated it’s not unpleasant, exactly, but neither is it anything like satisfying. It’s just _there_ , an intrusion that doesn’t feel like anything much.

“Sit back up for me,” Harry says authoritatively. “Back nice and straight. How are you feeling?”

“All right,” Eggsy says, and on one level it’s true but he also feels _strange_ , like there’s something fizzing in his blood, a warmth unfurling in his chest. He sits back on his heels and tries to hold as still and upright as possible. He feels Harry moving behind him and he wants to see but when he tries to turn his head Harry tells him to stay still. Eggsy understands _why_ when he feels the brief touch of Harry’s hands be- tween his legs a moment before the pressure of the rope snugged around his balls suddenly increases.

“Harry-“

“Stay still for a moment,” Harry repeats. His hand settles briefly on Eggsy’s wrist, and Eggsy can feel the pulling and pushing sensations as Harry ties the rope to whatever’s holding his wrist cuffs together. “Don’t move.”

“Doing my best.” Eggsy keeps his gaze focused on the watercolour hanging on the wall opposite as Harry passes another, thicker rope around and under Eggsy’s pinioned arms, tying it off somewhere behind them. “What’s that for?”

“In case you fall forwards and for some reason I’m not quick enough to catch you. I don’t want you accidentally castrating yourself. Try and lean forwards and you’ll see what I mean.”

Eggsy tries it. He can’t move very much thanks to the ropes Harry has tied around his arms but even with the small amount of movement he has, his wrists ride up as he leans forward and the rope connecting his wrists to his balls pulls tight. Too far, and it’s bordering on painful, constricting his balls and pressing on the base of the plug. Eggsy hurriedly sits back on his heels, relieving the pressure.

“Yeah, ok, I see what you mean.”

“How much can you move? Try and stand up.”

Eggsy tries, and quickly discovers that Harry has also tied the bar between his ankles to something because he can’t move his legs at all, and whatever Harry’s tied his arms to stops him standing up too. “Not much,” he says.

Harry walks around to face him. It’s hard to judge his expression in the low light but Eggsy thinks he looks pleased.

“How does that feel?” he asks, eyeing Eggsy’s crotch.

“This it?” Eggsy says, goading. “I can deal with this.”

“Oh, I’m sure you can,” Harry says blandly. He picks up and repositions the stand in front of Eggsy. He takes his time getting it positioned to his satisfaction and he keeps glancing at Eggsy like he’s expecting something. “Still all right?” he asks after a few minutes.

“I’m-“ Eggsy breaks off, because a horrible suspicion is blooming in his mind, fuelled by both Harry’s insistent questioning and the increasing discomfort of the plug inside him. “Harry, what was in that lube?”

“Ginger.” The stand seemingly set up to his satisfaction, Harry moves to kneel in front of him instead. “For the full effect, you really need fresh ginger root but you can still get quite interesting results from stem ginger in syrup. That’s the syrup you can feel, incidentally. The plug’s coated in it. It won’t cause you any long term damage but in the short term you’ll want to stay relaxed. Clenching on the plug will make it hurt more.”

Eggsy glares at him. The pain isn’t exactly overwhelming - it’s more an irritation than anything - but Harry’s right: when he tenses up there’s a sharper sting of pain. He resolves to stay relaxed, a resolution that lasts exactly ten seconds until Harry’s thumbs rub lightly across Eggsy’s nipples and the breath whooshes out of Eggsy’s lungs.

This too feels incredibly, painfully intimate. Harry doesn’t look away from him for a second, his gaze intent on Eggsy’s face as he alternates between the gentle, teasing rubbing and pinching of his nipples and an occasional light stroke of his cock. Eggsy has never felt more exposed to Harry’s gaze, nor more helpless to resist what Harry gives him and unwilling to do so. _Fuck me_ , he wants to say. _Do whatever you like with me. Anything, please._

“Eggsy,” Harry says, very softly, like Eggsy’s name is something precious, and his kiss swallows Eggsy’s yelp at the sudden, sharp pain in his left nipple. His body clenches involuntarily on the plug in response and this time it isn’t just mild discomfort. Eggsy yelps and starts to struggle against his restraints, temporarily forgetting the importance of holding still, and Harry takes advantage of his momentary distraction to clamp his other nipple.

“You fucking-“ Eggsy forces himself to sit back on his heels, taking the tension off the rope around his balls. He looks down at his chest, and the two small clamps now adorning it. “Fuck, that hurts.”

“What hurts, Eggsy?” Harry is fiddling with the two small cords attached to the nipple clamps.

“Fucking everything,” Eggsy says through gritted teeth. The burning sensation inside him has faded to a more muted tingle but it’s still there, still tormenting him alongside the newer pain. “These things. Fuck.”

Harry gives him a quick searching glance. “Do you want them taken off?”

It’s a genuine offer. “No.”

“Take some deep breaths,” Harry says mildly. “It’ll be easier if you relax.”

“Fuck you,” Eggsy snaps.

Harry’s small smile is infuriating. Eggsy glares at the other man as he gets to his feet but Harry is too busy passing the cords over the bar connecting the two legs of the stand and attaching them to two small weights, and Eggsy, in a moment of sudden and terrible clarity, realises exactly what _dilemma_ Harry had in mind.

“Harry, no, fuck.” The words tumble out of his mouth before he can think better of them.

And Harry stops and looks at him. Waiting, Eggsy realises through the fog of mild hysteria threatening to engulf him. He’s waiting for Eggsy to safeword out.

And Eggsy _could_. The words are right there, waiting to be voiced, and there’s no doubt at all in Eggsy’s mind that if he said them this would end _now_. That Harry would have him released from his restraints in under a minute and never hold it against him.

But Eggsy doesn’t want it to stop. He knows Harry isn’t going to do anything that would seriously, permanently hurt him. He trusts Harry, trusts him enough to know that it’ll be worth it in the end.

He takes a deep breath. “No,” he says again, slowly. “Please, no.” He deliberately meets Harry’s gaze, wanting to be sure the other man understands. “ _Please_.”

Harry gives a sharp nod of acknowledgement, and carefully pulls the stand towards himself, away from Eggsy, so that the weights lift off the floor. The pull on his nipples is immediate, and Eggsy instinctively leans forward to lessen the pain, only to jerk back into an upright position when the rope pulls tight around his balls. The movement causes him to clench on the plug again, the intensity of the burning sensation increases, and Eggsy rocks forward to escape the pain, starting the whole cycle all over again.

It’s a simple, diabolical dilemma. Eggsy can lean forward, to make sure the weights stay on the floor and aren’t pulling on his nipples, but that makes the rope tighten around his balls. Or he can lean backwards, take the tension off the rope, and endure the pain of the weights pulling on his nipples instead. Eggsy would curse Harry’s name if he had the breath for it but all his attention is instead focused on trying to find some compromise, some position that will alleviate the torment or at least relieve it a little. And all the while he keeps clenching on the plug despite his best intentions and every time he does the burning sensation seems to ramp up a little more.

Eggsy is vaguely aware of Harry moving around the room as he jerks to and fro but he can’t focus on it or anything else. Every breath feels laboured, every muscle feels like it’s straining, every sensation is magnified a hundred-fold. When Harry kneels behind him and presses up against his back, hands on Eggsy’s hips, Eggsy can only whimper in response.

“You’re doing so well, Eggsy,” Harry murmurs, and his hand - slick with lube - glides over Eggsy’s hard cock.

Eggsy moans. He desperately wants to lean forward but Harry is holding him in place, even rocking him backwards a little to increase the pull on his nipples as he strokes his cock. He feels like he’s burning up from the outside in, pleasure and pain wrapping around each other in a melee of sensation that threatens to engulf him.

“I knew you could do it. You have no idea how beautiful you look.”

Eggsy wants to point out how ridiculous Harry is being. He’s certain he looks anything but _beautiful_ , flushed and sweating and panting for breath. If he had the breath he’d tell Harry exactly that, but he _doesn’t_ have the breath for it and he barely manages a grunt when Harry abruptly stops stroking him.

It doesn’t hurt when Harry removes the clamps ... and then the blood rushes back and it _really_ hurts. Before Eggsy can protest the agony of it, Harry is rubbing away the pain, his fingers gentle against Eggsy’s abused skin.

“The ginger must be wearing off by now. It’s very temporary.” Harry’s hand encircles Eggsy’s cock once again, not stroking but just _holding_ him. “But it will hurt if you tense up again.”

“Nngh,” Eggsy manages. Harry gently tugs on the rope with his free hand, just the slightest increase in pressure, and Eggsy jerks and tenses and comes so hard he thinks he might actually pass out, sight, hearing, everything wiped away in that moment where time seems to _stop_.

He hangs suspended in the ropes, Harry’s arm tight around his waist like it’s the only thing that prevents Eggsy being swept away. He’s shaking, a tremor that starts in his toes and works its way up his body as Harry methodically releases him from the restraints and lowers him to lie curled on his side in a nest of cushions so he can remove the plug. There’s a blanket wrapped around him, and a glass held to his lips so he can take a sip of water, but Eggsy needs _Harry_ , and his hands grasp frantically for the other man, panic blooming in his chest when Harry moves away for a moment.

“I’m here, Eggsy,” Harry says. His voice sounds very far away, like he’s speaking from underwater. Eggsy presses his face into Harry’s shoulder and only then realises that he’s crying.

“Got- got your clothes wet…”

“It doesn’t matter. You did very well. I’m very proud of you.”

It’s what Eggsy needed to hear. He lets himself sink into Harry’s embrace for what feels like a few minutes but turns out to be nearly an hour, while Harry encourages him to drink more water and eat some apple tarts that are definitely not part of his diet plan.

He doesn’t feel that bad, physically. His balls ache a little and feel much more sensitive than usual, but there’s no lingering pain from the ginger and all his training has paid off because his arm and leg muscles don’t ache at all. But he feels still unsteady, unsettled, like he’s been knocked out of sync with the rest of the planet.

“Do you want to go to bed?” Harry asks eventually, very gently. His voice has gone back to normal - or maybe Eggsy’s ears have gone back to normal.

Eggsy nods. He’s very sleepy.

“You were incredible, Eggsy. How are you feeling now?”

“Ok.” There’s a part of his brain that’s already analysing his reaction, trying to make sense of what he’s feeling, but Eggsy’s too tired to put much thought into it now, or even begin to put it into words. Tomorrow, he thinks. Tomorrow. “Go to bed.”

“All right. We’ll go to bed.”

Eggsy has no memory of how he gets to the bedroom, only that he ends up tucked up in Harry’s bed with Harry’s arms wrapped around him. Safe and warm in Harry’s embrace, he’s asleep before Harry has turned out the bedside light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the sake of being responsible, I should say that, yes, you can use stem ginger syrup like this but do not use it vaginally unless you *really* like yeast infections.
> 
> Ditto, ball bondage is something to be careful with - Harry is very careful here to make sure Eggsy can't accidentally hurt himself by falling or moving in the wrong way.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some fallout from the night before - and Eggsy learns a few things about Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some non-specific references to canonical violence and Eggsy's home situation in this chapter, along with events of the previous chapter. Angst of a temporary nature ;)

There’s no easy, comfortable awakening. Eggsy wakes up with a dry mouth and pounding heart, his hands still pressed against his face in an attempt to himself from his subconscious mind’s imagined threat. It’s a bad dream, nothing more, but his body isn’t getting the message that everything’s ok and he doesn’t want to wake Harry up, so Eggsy carefully slides out of bed and staggers to the bathroom for a piss with Dean’s voice still ringing in his ears and the ghostly echo of bruises on his skin.

He stares at his reflection in the mirror as he washes his hands and cleans his teeth. He looks very pale in the artificial light, and there are dark shadows under his eyes that tell their own story of how bad his sleep has been. His hands, when he grasps hold of the edge of the sink to steady himself, are shaking.

_Stop being fucking stupid_ , he tells himself furiously.

_Don’t fucking think about him. He’s three hundred miles away._

_When was the last time he even fucking looked at you wrong?_

He presses his thumbs against the cold ceramic.

_Fuck_.

In his absence, Harry has rolled into the space Eggsy vacated. The older man is still asleep, snoring softly. A part of Eggsy wants nothing more than to get back into bed with him and, if not get back to sleep, at least have the comfort Harry’s closeness provides. Another part of him just needs to get _away_ , to have time and space to _think_ , and that’s the part that wins out in the end. Eggsy pulls on a hoodie and slips out of the room, closing the door very carefully behind him so it doesn’t slam shut and wake Harry.

He has no particular plan in mind. He ends up wandering aimlessly, his mind curiously blank for the most part, like he’s watching himself from outside his body, until he finds himself in what seems to be an older part of the house, where the corridor is narrower and the floor more uneven, without any memory of how, exactly, he came to be there.

The size of the place is ridiculous - it was a _hunting lodge_ , not even a family home - compared to his mum’s flat, and that only serves to remind Eggsy once again that he and Harry come from very different worlds, that he can’t imagine himself in Harry’s world just like he’s pretty sure Harry can’t imagine himself in Eggsy’s. And, while he’s not as uncertain of Harry’s affection these days, he still can’t see in himself the kind of partner a man like Harry should have.

Idle curiosity - and perhaps a desire not to think too deeply about the reasons for his continuing unease - make Eggsy try one of the doors that line the corridor. It’s not locked, and opens easily. He fumbles for a light switch. When he flicks the switch the harsh glare of electric light blinds him for a second or two, until his eyes adjust.

The room he steps into is a large bedroom, even bigger than Harry’s bedroom. The furniture looks old but well cared for and someone has obviously been in recently to clean, because there’s no dust on any of the surfaces and the air smells faintly of furniture polish. Eggsy cautiously opens one of the wardrobes and finds it empty.

He moves over to the windows: the curtains aren’t drawn and the windows are full height, with a latch that turns easily under his hand. Eggsy eases the window open and looks out onto a narrow stone balcony. He has no idea what time it is but it’s dark outside. After a moment’s hesitation he goes back and turns the bedroom light out, so his eyes can adjust to the darkness. It takes him aback just _how_ dark it is, without any other source of artificial light, and it’s a few minutes before he feels confident enough to make his way back to the balcony.

Stepping out onto the balcony feels like an escape. The air is cool and fresh, the rain of the previous day having eased, and Eggsy stands on the balcony, hands gripping the stone balustrade, and turns his face up, his eyes widening as he takes in the sight of the cloudless sky above. He’s never seen so many stars in his life, and the more he looks the more he sees, an entrancing three-dimensional pattern he becomes so engrossed in that he completely fails to notice Harry’s arrival until the other man murmurs his name.

“Shit,” Eggsy says, startled. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you up.” The latter is said almost as an afterthought.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” Harry moves to stand next to Eggsy on the balcony and Eggsy expects Harry to reach for him or perhaps an inquisition about what he’s doing wandering around in the middle of the night. But Harry just _stands_ there, a warm, silent presence at Eggsy’s side.

“Never knew there was that many stars,” Eggsy says awkwardly, wanting to break the silence. His feet are practically numb with cold; he hadn’t even noticed before.

“On a clear night like this it’s quite spectacular, isn’t it? The benefit of there being no other light sources. You wouldn’t get this view in London.”

“Yeah.” Eggsy leans against the balustrade, feeling the roughness of the stone against his fingertips. Harry’s hand comes to rest against the small of his back and it’s that small, almost inconsequential gesture, more than anything, that finally breaks Eggsy, knocks him out of the sense of detachment he’s had since he woke up and into something altogether more overwhelming. And still Harry doesn’t say anything; he draws Eggsy into an embrace and holds him close while Eggsy cries silently against his shoulder, the darkness both comforting and forgiving. Eggsy isn’t even sure what he’s crying _for_ , only that the tears come from a place inside him that feels raw and hollowed-out, the sea anchor that’s pulling him out of sync with the world around him.

_Harry_ , he begs silently, clinging to the other man so hard it must hurt. Harry doesn’t protest, though; he just holds Eggsy tighter, a solid, reassuring presence. Later, Eggsy will wonder if Harry knew what he was doing when he reached out for Eggsy, if Harry knew that one touch would unravel the last of Eggsy’s hold on his own emotions.

The tears stop, eventually. Harry loosens his hold on Eggsy and guides him indoors and over to the bed. Eggsy sits, numb with something deeper than cold, as Harry wraps a blanket around his shoulders. He doesn’t turn on a light, which Eggsy is endlessly grateful for. He’s not sure he could face Harry if he could see him clearly.

The bed dips as Harry sits down, close to but not touching Eggsy. Eggsy half-expects him to move in for a kiss, or something more. He wouldn’t mind, he thinks. Instead, something soft is pressed into Eggsy’s hand, startling him.

“Tissues,” Harry clarifies.

“Right, yeah.” Eggsy hurriedly pulls a tissue out of the packet, wipes his eyes, and blows his nose. Harry probably thinks he’s a mess. Eggsy feels like a mess. “Sorry.”

“Eggsy, there’s really nothing to apologise for.”

“It’s just me…” _Being a fucking idiot_. He doesn’t think he needs to say it out loud; Harry surely already knows. 

Harry passes him another tissue. “It’s normal to have a strong emotional reaction sometimes - a comedown, if you like - and there’s nothing wrong with you. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Eggsy shakes his head. Harry doesn’t _know_ , that’s all. He doesn’t understand. Eggsy isn’t sure he understands himself but he knows what the comedown should feel like and this feels so much more than that. It feels like he’s been twisted up and wrung out, ripped apart and put back together in the wrong order.

“Years ago,” Harry says, apropos of nothing. “I knew a woman who could make a man beg for mercy with nothing more than a feather.”

Eggsy squints at Harry, trying and failing to discern the other man’s expression. There’s a lot going on in the subtext of Harry’s words, a whole novel written between the lines. Suddenly he _does_ want the light on, just to see Harry’s face.

“You and her-?”

“For a time,” Harry says equably. There’s nothing to read into his tone of voice.

“Didn’t think you liked women, Harry.”

“I’m not sexually attracted to women. Let’s say that she and I shared certain specialised interests. Dominating others, for one.”

_Oh_. “How does that work? If you didn’t fancy her.”

Harry shifts his position slightly, perhaps making himself more comfortable. “It’s not always about sex, Eggsy.”

“What do you get out of it, then? If it’s not about sex.”

“When you and I first met, I wasn’t thinking about it in those terms.” His hand finds Eggsy’s before Eggsy can even think about taking offence. “Of course, things changed later on.”

Something eases in Eggsy’s chest at the way Harry says it. He turns his hand over so he can interlock his fingers with Harry’s. “But you were getting off on it even then,” he points out. “Before.” _When you were paying me_ , he doesn’t say.

“But not _with_ you,” Harry snaps back, quick as a flash, before adding, more gently, “And I went into this, this thing between us, thinking that you wouldn’t necessarily find the things I wanted you to do enjoyable, and for that reason it was always intended to be a business arrangement between us.”

“Was it with her?” The words stick a little in Eggsy’s throat and he knows he’s being ridiculous feeling jealous over some woman Harry knew years ago, a woman Harry wasn’t even attracted to. He’s still not really sure where Harry is going with this topic of conversation anyway.

“Oh yes.” Harry’s hand squeezes his. “She was a professional, you see.” Before Eggsy can fully process that comment, he adds, “And she could provide something I needed at the time.” Another squeeze, harder than the first. “There’s nothing _wrong_ with getting off on a little bit of pain, Eggsy. It doesn’t mean you liked or invited anything your stepfather ever did to you.”

_Fuck_.

It’s like a kick to the kidney, a punch in the face. Without Harry’s hold on him, Eggsy would probably have jumped to his feet, but Harry doesn’t let him go, doesn’t let him run away from this. The words that follow are like fist strikes, every one knocking the air out of Eggsy’s lungs.

“Obviously I should have thought more carefully about it, discussed the possibility of this happening with you in advance. Given your history with-”

“Fucking _stop_ , Harry,” Eggsy says, cutting him off before the words can do any more damage. “It’s not about- Fuck.” The last thing he wants is Harry thinking there’s _any_ kind of confusion in his mind. “I know- I know it’s stupid, yeah? It wasn’t, like, like you were… And it was good as well. Really good.” He breaks off, having run out of even incoherent words to explain his inner turmoil. “I liked it,” he says in the end. It sounds hopelessly inadequate. “I don’t even know why I- Fuck.”

“I know you liked it,” Harry says, very gently. “And that’s the problem for you, isn’t it?”

Eggsy is glad the darkness hides the intense flushing of his face. Harry is silent for a minute or two, which gives Eggsy the time to regain some composure. _Fuck you, Harry_ , he thinks without any real anger. _Why’d you have to guess what was going on in my head_?

“Don’t tell me you don’t like watching me suffer.” It comes out harsher and less jokingly than he means it to. “Don’t fucking pretend you don’t.”

He can feel the way Harry tenses up. “I don’t enjoy causing you pain for the sake of it, Eggsy,” he says stiffly.

“Yeah, I know.” Eggsy hates how genuinely hurt Harry sounds at the very idea of it. “Didn’t mean it like that.”

“Some people do, you know. Dishing it out and receiving.” The way he says it provides Eggsy with a sudden flash of insight.

“This woman, she was like that, yeah?”

“Oh yes. It’s true that women are far more deadly, you know. When we met for the last time, I couldn’t sit down properly for a week. I still wince at the memory, thirty years later.”

From the lack of regret in his voice, Eggsy deduces that Harry didn’t particularly _mind_ the experience and that’s something he mentally files away for later consideration.

“But my _point_ , Eggsy,” Harry continues quietly. “Is that pain isn’t something completely separate from pleasure and there’s nothing wrong or shameful, nothing at all, in what you and I did last night.”

Eggsy is distracted for a moment by the mental image of a younger version of Harry getting spanked - his limited experience doesn’t run to visions of anything much more serious or intense than that, although he has vague conceptions of what Harry could mean - by this unknown, faceless woman. And then, after that thought, he’s not sure what to say. There’s an awkwardness between them suddenly that Eggsy doesn’t know how to bridge. Their joined hands are the only lifeline he has.

“When I said she provided something I needed at the time,” Harry says, jolting him out of his reverie, “I meant that it was a lesson I needed to learn. That experiences that have shaped us and changed us don’t have to be negative for all time, that they can be relearnt. I don’t claim to understand everything you’re feeling, Eggsy, but I do understand a little.”

The grip on Eggsy’s hands tightens. Eggsy can feel Harry’s pulse, strong if a little more rapid than it should be. There’s something there, something behind Harry’s words. Yet he senses that if he pushes, Harry will shut down.

Maybe, he thinks, he isn’t the only one grateful for the veil of anonymity darkness provides.

“I know you’re not like him.” Eggsy takes a deep breath, trying to sort through his tangled thoughts. He feels better for having Harry here, more focused. Like just having Harry around helps to bring some order to his life. “I do. Just needed to get my head straight. You should go back to bed, yeah? Sorry I woke you up.”

“I could lie and tell you I was up anyway but it would be more accurate to say that I tend to wake up very easily. You’re not being silly about this, Eggsy. Don’t ever feel you can’t tell me if you’re unhappy or uncomfortable. I spend a quite ridiculous amount of time thinking about what I can do with you when we’re together, and I want very much to make sure I get it right.”

The words are said so casually, like it doesn’t matter, but Eggsy knows how to decode Harry now and he finds himself smiling as he leans forward, grasping the collar of Harry’s dressing gown so he can pull the other man into a clumsy, untender kiss.

“Been thinking about what you’re gonna do to me, yeah?” he whispers when they break apart.

“Eggsy-”

“Nah, it’s ok,” he assures the other man. “Like, really ok; I’m not just saying that.” He kisses Harry again, more carefully this time. “It was just all fucked up in my head, before.”

“Feeling better now?” Harry says cautiously.

“Yeah, I think so.” Eggsy shuffles closer, wanting more contact.

“Tell me if that changes.”

“Ok, but I want you to tell me more about those things you’ve been thinking about, like what you’re gonna do to me.”

“Right now? It’s 4am, Eggsy,” Harry says wryly. “I was going to suggest that I make us cheese on toast downstairs and then we go back to bed and try and get a couple more hours of sleep.”

“Or we could stay here,” Eggsy counters, trying to slide his hand between Harry’s dressing gown and pyjamas.

“Or we could leave my grandmother’s bedroom as you found it and move elsewhere.”

“Shit.” Eggsy pulls his hand away. “Sorry.”

“Well, she’s been dead for twenty-five years so there’s no danger of her walking in on us unannounced but still, it does feel slightly awkward. Come on; I’m starving.”

*

Watching Harry sleepily potter around the kitchen in his pyjamas, his hair mussed up and the lines of his face softened by stubble, Eggsy feels the last of the strange tension that’s plagued him since he woke up melt away. He pulls the blanket a little tighter round his shoulders and cups his hands around the tea in front of him.

“What’s it like, being a spy?”

Harry, engrossed in the act of grating cheese, doesn’t look up as he says:

“Didn’t you tell me you wouldn’t ask about it?”

Eggsy looks down at his tea, abashed. “Yeah, sorry. Forgot.”

“That’s all right.” Harry turns to get a loaf of bread out of a cupboard. His actions - so simple, so mundane - are a pointed contrast to the subject matter. “My life is what it is. Those that I fight I do not hate, those that I guard I do not love.”

“Is that from something?”

“WB Yeats. ‘An Irish Airman Foresees His Death’. How many slices do you want?”

“Two,” Eggsy says promptly. Harry makes good cheese on toast. “Do you think about me when you’re on missions? Am I allowed to ask that?”

“I could be a coward and say no,” Harry says dryly. “But yes, I do. You’re extremely distracting.”

“Especially when you ring me when you’re supposed to be working, yeah?”

He knows the instant Harry makes the connection to the conversation they had when Harry was in Vienna by the delicate flush that blooms on Harry’s cheeks.

“Yes,” the other man admits. His lip quirk just a little when he adds, “And thinking about your arse nearly got me shot three hours later.”

Eggsy remembers the state Harry was in when he got home, the way he’d tried to hide himself away from Eggsy until his injuries had healed. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. I don’t regret it in the slightest. Do you want to put the kettle on again? I could do with another cup of tea.”

Harry’s timing is impeccable: by the time Eggsy’s made the tea, the cheese on toast is ready. Only when Harry is collecting their plates and putting them in the sink does he say, almost casually:

“If there’s anything else you want to ask, Eggsy, now’s the time.”

“About what?”

“Anything you like.”

Eggsy drinks the last of his tea to buy himself some time. Harry isn’t being entirely upfront, he knows, and anything related to spying is off the table, but Harry’s offering him an opportunity, in this strangely open mood he seems to be in. There are lots of things Eggsy _could_ ask about  and there’s the question of whatever lies behind what Harry said to him earlier, but he settles for something relatively safe instead, a proxy question for everything he doesn’t know about Harry.

“Did you get on with your grandmother?”

“My paternal grandmother? No, not at all.” Harry sits back down, his knee bumping against Eggsy’s. “She was very much of her time, I suppose.”

“What does that mean?”

“She was born when Queen Victoria was still on the throne and she was always a frightful snob. I don’t think she ever forgave my mother for the terrible sin of having a Colonial, as she put it, for a father. My maternal grandfather was Australian by birth, you see.”

“Why’s that a problem?” Eggsy asks, confused.

“Oh, it isn’t. Wasn’t. But it made him _not one of us_ in her book. The only thing that made him marginally acceptable was his early death in a boating accident when my mother was very young.”

“She sounds _lovely_.”

“Mmm. I don’t think she ever got over my refusing to marry the _suitable_ girl she’d found for me. Didn’t speak to me for over a year.”

“Wouldn’t approve of me then, would she?”

Harry half-smiles, reaching across the table to take Eggsy’s hand. “I doubt it very much. I’m grateful to her though. She taught me that being born into the aristocracy does not bestow any kind of innate nobility. A valuable life lesson. Now, shall we go back to bed?”

“Thought you’d never ask, Harry.”

*

It’s ten o’clock when Eggsy wakes up for the second time. He opens his eyes to see Harry opening the curtains, the other man already dressed.

“Lazybones. I thought you were going to sleep all morning.”

“You fucking wore me out, Harry.” Eggsy rolls out of bed, blinking against the glare of the morning sunlight. He realises, somewhat belatedly, that he doesn’t feel particularly sore: Harry’s training program is paying off.

Harry walks over to the bed, offering a hand to help Eggsy to his feet. “Do you need some more sleep?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

“Good, because I thought we might go to Bowness today. Might as well do the tourist trail, since you haven’t been up here before.”

“Tourist trail,” Eggsy repeats, instantly suspicious.

Harry smiles his most guileless, innocent smile. “I’ll see you downstairs in twenty minutes.”

Eggsy has never been more convinced that Harry is up to something.

*

Harry parks the Volvo in a car park next to a lake (“Lake Windermere, Eggsy; the largest natural lake in England”), taking the last available parking spot through sheer force of personality and a piercing death glare Eggsy wouldn’t want to face down either, and waits for Eggsy to get out of the car and put his coat on with the air of a man who’s enjoying himself immensely.

And he _is_ , as far as Eggsy can tell. Eggsy had assumed that Harry was trying to treat him gently after what happened during the night but Harry seems to be genuinely enjoying himself as they wander around the town.

“In here,” Harry says, guiding him into yet another gift shop. Eggsy briefly considers buying a postcard to send to his mum, but remembers in time that he’s meant to be on a course, not sightseeing in the Lake District. Instead he picks out a toy lamb for Daisy while Harry buys some weirdly-named bath soak and a bottle of gin.

“Nice combo there, Harry,” he teases. “What else you got planned?”

What Harry has planned next, it turns out, is a boat trip. A sightseeing cruise on a virtually-empty boat - they’re the only ones sitting on the upper, uncovered deck - to be precise, as the sky clouds over and the temperature drops. Eggsy would be pissed off about it, except that he’s never actually been on a boat before and Harry wraps an arm around him for warmth and it’s _nice_ , in a way he hadn’t expected. Just being with Harry, sharing a bag of chips and a can of Fanta, watching the seagulls soaring overhead and the buildings on the shoreline as they pass by.

“You should have a house like that,” he tells Harry, pointing at a big house on the shoreline with a boathouse and a little jetty.

“It would be hell on earth,” Harry says dismissively. “Too many tourists.”

“Thought you liked being around people.”

Harry tightens his hold on Eggsy a little. “Within reason.”

Eggsy can’t resist; he places his hand on Harry’s thigh and slides it teasingly towards the other man’s crotch. He expects some kind of protest from Harry, not for Harry to turn towards him, his hand cupping Eggsy’s jaw so he can draw Eggsy into a kiss. The contrast of Harry’s warm, firm hold and the cold air and their very public situation fires something in Eggsy, a burning need to be _closer_ , to wrap himself around Harry and never let him go.

“What else you got planned, Harry?” he murmurs against Harry’s lips. “Thought you’d have me chained up all today.”

“Aren't you enjoying yourself?” Harry says. Eggsy might be imagining it but Harry sounds just a little bit out of breath.

“‘Course. Doesn’t mean I’m not thinking about what we’re gonna do later. Don’t have to be _careful_ of me.”

“Oh, I’ll take my time with you, Eggsy,” Harry murmurs. “Don’t worry about that.”

He draws back though, shaking his head when Eggsy tries to kiss him again.

“ _Harry_ ,” Eggsy complains.

“This boat trip last for another twenty minutes. I don’t want the police to be waiting for us on our return.”

“Seriously?”

“There’s a pensioner with a telescope over there,” Harry says, pointing to another house set further back from the shoreline. “And he looks the type to complain.”

Eggsy squints. _Harry’s eyesight is fucking good_ , he thinks absently. _Maybe it’s the glasses_. “Fine,” he grumbles. “I’ll wait.”

Twenty minutes feels like twenty hours despite Eggsy's best efforts to engross himself in the running commentary being broadcast over the tannoy system but finally - _finally_ \- they’re on dry land again and walking down the pier towards the promenade. They’re halfway back to the car park when an elderly couple stop Harry to ask for directions and Eggsy, bored, starts looking at the posters in the windows of the boat cruise ticket office.

The glass reflects the busy promenade behind him, thronged with people and the odd seagull, and that’s how Eggsy comes to spot a face in the crowd that is both familiar and unwelcome: a shock of ginger hair above a scarred face and a scowl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (aka James gives excellent instruction on spotting people who are following you!)


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Eggsy confront the man who's been following them, and Eggsy gets to see more of Harry's world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA: After I hit Post I realised that today is two years exactly since I posted the first chapter of this "short fic" (as it was meant to be!). Thank you for all your lovely comments over those two years, I appreciate every single one of them :)

 

Eggsy doesn’t tell Harry that the man who was eyeing him up at Corley services is here in Bowness until they’re in the car but when he does Harry’s face goes very still, like a mask sliding into place. He's been good-humoured and relaxed all day, but this is a very visceral reminder for Eggsy of what Harry also is, of the cold steel that lies beneath the genial exterior.

“What are you going to do?” he asks apprehensively.

“Put your seatbelt on, please.” Harry puts the car into gear and eases out of the parking space. He doesn’t say anything else but Eggsy sees the way he’s looking around; the way he keeps looking in the rear-view mirror. Looking for signs of anyone following them.

“It might not have been him,” he offers, even though he’s sure it was. He’s good with faces; has had to be. Harry doesn’t dignify it with an answer.

Harry doesn’t head back the way they came either. Once they’re out of Bowness itself, he takes a series of turns down little side roads and by the time they’re back on something like a main road Eggsy is sure that anyone trying to follow them must have long since lost sight of them. He says as much to Harry and gets a pointed look in response.

“What?!” he says defensively.

“We’re not dealing with an amateur, Eggsy.”

“You haven’t told me who we’re dealing with at all,” he shoots back.

“No,’ Harry says, infuriatingly, and puts his foot down. The Volvo leaps forward like a racehorse, with a burst of torque that pushes Eggsy back in his seat. As they rapidly accelerate up past the national speed limit Eggsy can only hope Harry knows the road because otherwise the afternoon is going to end with them upside down in a ditch.

“Are we going back to the house?” he asks.

“Not yet.” Harry deftly overtakes a tractor towing some sort of farm machinery.

“You trying to draw him off or something?”

“He knows exactly where the house is.”

Eggsy digests this new information. “Harry,” he says warily. “He’s not like some psycho ex of yours, is he?”

“Hardly,” Harry says derisively. “Hold on.”

Eggsy grabs onto his seat just in time as Harry swings the Volvo into a tight left-hand turn and sends it flying down a narrow, single-track side road. Narrow enough that they’re going to be in serious shit if there’s anything coming the other way.

“Going a bit fast, aren’t you?” Eggsy says apprehensively.

“It’s fine,” Harry says. “You’re perfectly safe.”

“Yeah, yeah. If he knows where the house is, where are we going?”

Harry takes another turn, barely slowing down. “Somewhere quieter.”

“Quieter,” Eggsy repeats, as Harry floors the throttle. He’s torn between concern for his life and being seriously impressed at Harry’s car control as they slalom down a narrow, undulating road lined with dry stone walls. Harry is outwardly impassive but there’s a simmering undercurrent of tension that Eggsy thinks has only a little to do with the fact they’re doing 85pmh on a road barely wider than the car.

“Quieter,” Harry repeats. “I don’t particularly want tourists taking photos of us. Here we are now, anyway.”

The car slows and Eggsy notices the T-junction they’re rapidly approaching. There’s no sign of human habitation, not even a signpost at the junction. Eggsy looks around as Harry pulls the car over, parking up with the front of the car sticking out into the junction.

“Here we’re _where_?”

“There.” Harry nods his head to Eggsy’s left. Eggsy looks round and sees a grey car in the distance, still a good way off but fast approaching. Without a word, Harry pulls the Volvo forward and turns right.

The road they’re now on is slightly wider than the last, although not by much. But Harry’s now driving much more slowly, well under the speed limit, letting the approaching car catch up with them.

“Harry,” Eggsy says cautiously. “That car’s catching us.”

“Yes.”

Eggsy glances in the side mirror again. He can’t see the driver of the grey car behind them clearly, but he has a good suspicion who it is.

“That’s him, isn’t it?”

Harry doesn’t ask who he means. “Yes. Shall we say hello?”

He doesn’t wait for Eggsy to reply. Eggsy’s eyes track the movement of Harry’s hand as it lifts off the steering wheel, drops to the centre console, and does something to the side of the console that causes the top to slide back, revealing a neat row of buttons.

“I fucking knew it!” Eggsy exclaims. “You’ve got fucking rocket launchers!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Harry says, pressing a button. “It’s a spike stick.”

Eggsy twists round in his seat in time to see something long and thin fly out of the back of the Volvo. As it strikes the ground it unfurls itself like an upside-down umbrella, spreading a mat of sharp spikes across the road surface. The following car tries to avoid the spikes but the stone walls lining the road mean that there’s nowhere to go and Eggsy whoops in delight as the spikes puncture all four tyres, bringing the pursuit to an abrupt end.

Harry slams the brakes on. He’s out of the car almost before it’s stopped, striding back towards their stricken pursuer like some kind of avenging angel. Eggsy unclips his seatbelt and kicks his door open: he’s not going to miss a second of this.

By the time he gets to the other car, though, Harry already has the driver’s door open and the driver himself half-out of his seat, pinned against the door by Harry’s arm across his chest. The man’s hair is an even more vivid shade of red than Eggsy remembers but he looks a lot paler than he did the last time they met, which may or may not have something to do with the pistol Harry has jammed under his jaw. Not the Glock, Eggsy notes absently.

“You seem to have a problem with your car, Evans,” Harry is saying as Eggsy arrives, his voice very clipped.

The man - Evans - takes a swing at him. Eggsy could have told him it was a mistake: Harry dodges the blow easily. His fist slams into Evans’ solar plexus and the man collapses to the ground, wheezing. As he drops, a pistol falls from his jacket. Harry kicks it away.

“That was unwise,” Harry tells him coldly. “Don’t do it again.”

Grimacing, Evans rolls his eyes towards Eggsy, like he’s searching for an ally. Eggsy involuntarily takes a step back.

“Don’t look at him,” Harry snaps, drawing the man’s attention away from Eggsy. “Do you have any other weapons on you?”

Evans shakes his head.

“If I find out later that you do,” Harry says. “Then I shall be very annoyed.”

Evans meets Harry’s cold gaze for a few more seconds before reaching down to his boot and pulling out a wicked-looking knife.

“Very good,” Harry says approvingly. “Throw it away.”

Eggsy half-expects the man to throw it at Harry but Evans isn’t that stupid. He throws it to the verge instead.

“Good,” Harry says. “Now, if I find out that you or any of your associates have been in the same _postcode_ as Eggsy again, I will remove your kidneys. Via your nose. Do I make myself clear?”

From anyone else, the threat might have sounded ridiculous. Coming from Harry’s lips, said in that frosty, precise tone, it’s genuinely terrifying. The man nods frantically. He looks like he wants to be sick. Eggsy almost - _almost_ \- feels sorry for him.

“Stand up.”

Evans doesn’t protest Harry’s order. He pulls himself up, wincing as he uses the car bonnet to lever himself to his feet.

“It was just reconnaissance,” he gets out. “Nothing more…”

Again Harry pushes him bodily against the car door, the gun jammed against his ribs. “And now you’ve seen as much as you need to see. And you’re going to go back to your employer and tell him that Eggsy is to be left alone. Do I make myself clear?”

Eggsy doesn’t see Harry move but Evans yelps in pain and tries to squirm away all the same.

“Yes!” he says frantically. “Yes, I understand!”

Harry steps away, and Evans crumples to the ground for the second time. His face has gone the colour of sour milk and he looks like he’s about to be sick.

“Where’s your friend?”

“I don’t know wha-”

Harry drags Evans back to his feet by his collar and slams him against the body of the car.

“I asked politely, Evans,” he says quietly. The menace in his voice is palpable.

“He’s- he’s gone to the house,” Evans says with evident reluctance.

Harry raises an eyebrow. “I see,” he says, his voice somehow even colder and more terrifying than before. “Perhaps we should hurry back then. I suggest _you_ make yourself scarce.”

“The car’s fucked,” Evans says sulkily.

“Then I suggest you start walking.”

“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” Evans protests.

Harry gestures meaningfully with the gun. "Then I suggest you start walking _quickly_. It looks like it might rain.”

For a second or two Eggsy thinks Evans might actually be stupid enough to argue, but after a moment of thought he turns and stumbles away down the road. Harry watches him go, a grim smile on his lips.

“Fucking _hell_ , Harry,” Eggsy says breathlessly. He's not sure whether he's turned on or terrified. Maybe a little of both.

“Don’t waste your sympathy on him.” Harry pokes his head inside the other car and starts rifling through papers on the passenger seat. Eggsy unashamedly eyes the view, Harry’s jacket having ridden up.

“Not even a little bit? Because that was a bit full-on, Harry.”

“He’s a killer.” Harry straightens up, to Eggsy’s disappointment.

“So are you.” It slips out without thought, and Eggsy wants to take it back immediately.  Harry, though, doesn’t seem angry or upset.

“Do you expect me to ask for forgiveness? Promise to turn over a new leaf?”

“No.” Eggsy supposes that there’s probably something wrong with him, the way it doesn’t really worry him any more. “Would you really take his kidneys out if he came after me?”

Harry crosses the distance between them in two steps. Eggsy stands his ground, tilting his head up defiantly as Harry gets hold of him.

“I would _eviscerate_ him for you,” Harry says gravely. There’s no doubt in Eggsy’s mind that he means it.

Eggsy grins, pulling Harry down to him for a kiss. The kiss is light, almost tentative on Harry’s part, like Harry is waiting for him to freak out. Harry’s fingers rest lightly against his throat and Eggsy knows the other man can feel his rapid pulse. It would be easy, he thinks, if Harry wanted to get rid of witnesses. Out here, in the middle of nowhere.

“Yeah?” he whispers against Harry’s lips.

Harry’s hand slides from his neck to his cheek, thumb tracing the line of Eggsy’s cheekbone. “Yes, Eggsy.”

Harry kisses Eggsy again, a hard, demanding kiss this time. His hand is on Eggsy's back, pulling him in close, bringing their hips into closer alignment. Eggsy has been so caught up in the rush of adrenaline, in the shock and awe of Harry's carefully-controlled, cruelly-precise violence, that it almost takes him by surprise to realise that he's hard, and so is Harry. He breaks off the kiss, gasping for breath like he’s the one who just got punched.

"Harry," he starts. His knees are threatening to give way and he clutches at Harry's jacket, pressing his face against the fabric, his mind filled with vivid, technicolour, intoxicating images of getting down on his knees, sucking Harry's cock here in the middle of the road, where anyone could come along at any moment. Of Harry's hand in his hair, holding him down, making Eggsy take his cock…

“Eggsy,” Harry says, his voice cracking on the second syllable. His hands - those deadly, deadly hands - hold Eggsy tightly, one against the small of his back, the other clutching his upper arm. “We should go.”

Maybe it’s the reminder of exactly what he’s dealing with, the exhilaration of watching Harry in action, or the desire to show Harry that he isn’t entirely helpless but Eggsy isn’t inclined to let Harry have everything his own way. “No,” he murmurs, nudging the collar of Harry’s jacket aside to get his mouth on Harry’s neck. “Not yet.”

Harry swears under his breath, his fingers tightening on Eggsy’s arm. “We need to clean up the scene, Eggsy. This isn’t the time. This is just the adrenaline talking right now.”

 _Fuck that_. Eggsy presses a farewell kiss to Harry’s neck and slides to his knees. _Like I don’t know that_. Harry lets him go, and if it’s just because he’s too stunned to react then Eggsy will take that. Right now he wouldn’t care if a whole army of farmers and tourists turned up to watch the show; he just wants Harry’s cock in his mouth. And, after that brief hesitation, Harry willingly obliges, unfastening his trousers with steady hands and tugging his briefs down enough that Eggsy can get to him.

“What if someone comes?” Harry says, his hand hovering next to Eggsy’s face, like he wants to touch but isn’t quite sure if he _should_.

“That’s pretty much the idea,” Eggsy says, grinning up at him as he grabs hold of Harry’s wrist with one hand, guiding Harry’s hand to rest against his cheek, while he strokes Harry to full hardness with the other. “But you can keep an eye out, yeah? Let me know if there’s any sheep staring at me. Or if that guy comes back.”

“Oh, he won’t be doing that,” Harry says dryly. His fingers cup Eggsy’s face, a light yet reassuring hold, and Eggsy takes the hint. He settles himself more comfortably on the uneven tarmac and braces himself with a hand on Harry’s thigh.

“Does this satisfy your desire for a public display?” Harry asks, the last word cracking as Eggsy eagerly takes the head of Harry’s cock into his mouth, sucking gently as Harry’s cock hardens, running his tongue around the foreskin teasingly just to feel Harry shuddering. He reaches down to palm his own cock, desperate for more friction that the constriction of his clothes can provide.

“Stop that,” Harry rasps.

Eggsy complies instantly, leaning back so he can make eye contact with Harry as he flicks his tongue against the underside of his cock. Harry groans, the hand that was brushing Eggsy’s cheek now clenching into a fist, and in a flash of intuition Eggsy guesses what Harry is desperately trying not to do. He pulls off, pressing a kiss to the head of Harry’s cock in apology as Harry looks down in confusion.

“You can hold onto my hair if you want,” he tells Harry. “Don’t have to be careful.”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Harry says immediately.

Eggsy rolls his eyes at the other man. “Just asking you to do what you want, that’s all.”

Harry stares at him for what feels like an eternity, long enough for Eggsy’s heart to start to sink. For him to wonder if he’s reminded Harry of the state he’d been in last night, if Harry is having second thoughts about the whole thing.

"Eggsy," the other man says eventually, carefully. "I would like to take you back to the house and be very unkind to you, if you don't mind."

The sound that comes out of Eggsy's mouth would be embarrassing if Eggsy were in any state to care. "That- that sounds good," he manages. “But don’t you want to- y’know, to finish?” His hand gesture somehow encompasses all of this: the wrecked car, the Bond film gadgetry, the two of them.

"I can wait.” It doesn’t come out entirely steadily but Harry’s iron willpower seems to be holding up. He even pats Eggsy’s cheek. “Let’s tidy up the scene, shall we?”

"Haven’t hardly got started,” Eggsy says sulkily. He feels vaguely insulted that Harry still has the self-control to tuck himself back into his clothes like nothing’s happened while Eggsy is so hard he’s not even sure he can stand up.

“Up you get,” Harry says briskly, leaning down to help Eggsy to his feet. He brings Eggsy in close as he does so, his mouth against to Eggsy’s ear as he teases, “I’ll make it worth your while if you do what I tell you.”

“Fuck,” Eggsy says helplessly. It’s all he can do not to grind against Harry’s thigh and Harry isn’t exactly helping, sliding his hand underneath Eggsy’s jacket, pulling him closer still.

“That’s the general idea, yes.” Harry’s other hand drops to cup Eggsy through his jeans. “But you’re not going to come, are you, Eggsy?”

“Nnnnghhh,” Eggsy manages.

“I’ll take that as a _no, Harry_ ,” Harry murmurs. He squeezes lightly, not quite enough to be painful but not entirely pleasant either. “Do you think you can do that for me? No getting yourself off until I tell you that you can.”

It shouldn’t matter, Eggsy thinks. His cock knows exactly what it wants and thirty seconds ago Eggsy would have said that there wasn’t a lot he could do about it either way, but there’s something about the way Harry says it, something that connects the words coming out of Harry’s mouth with his mind and his body, that Eggsy knows, in the same way he knows the sun rises in the morning, that he’s going to do exactly as he’s been told.

“Yeah,” he says, and then, more confidently, “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Come on then. The quicker we get done here, the quicker we can get back.”

“So romantic, Harry,” Eggsy teases. “Is that a new gun you're holding?”

He feels rather than sees Harry’s smile. “I feel there’s an innuendo in there somewhere. But yes, it’s the MP-443 Grach I keep in the car. I’ll let you have a play with it tomorrow.”

“Some people have sweets and an air freshener in their car.”

“I have those too. Come on, let’s clean up.”

Which means, first of all, helping Harry to push Evans’ car off the road and onto the verge, not easy with four flat tyres and an erection that borders on painful. And yet, it’s easier than Eggsy thought it might be to ignore it. Harry told him to wait, and the knowledge that he _will_ somehow makes sense to his body. Eggsy doesn’t feel inclined to spend too much time thinking about it.

“What happens if someone nicks it?” Eggsy asks when Harry is happy the car is as far off the road as it’s going to get.

“Someone will have a new car.” Harry crouches down next to the spike strip. “Come and have a look at this.”

A press of a button on the side of the spike strip folds the whole thing back up and Harry shows Eggsy how it slots into a holder hidden in the Volvo’s bumper.

“Far more useful than a rocket launcher, obviously.”

Eggsy nods, still not at all convinced that there _isn’t_ a rocket launcher tucked away somewhere. He wouldn’t put it past Harry.

“So what else can this car do?”

Harry smiles. “Well, it’s bulletproof.”

Eggsy gawps at him. “Seriously?”

“Very much so. The additional weight is one of the reasons the engine is uprated from the normal production model. The passenger compartment can withstand the blast from two hand grenades simultaneously. Bullet-resistant glass, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Eggsy repeats dazedly.

Not waiting for Eggsy to regain his senses, Harry reaches further under the bumper, rummaging around like he’s searching for something. As Eggsy watches in confusion, Harry pulls out something like that looks like a dead fly, but when he drops it to the ground and grinds his heel down on it it cracks with the unmistakable sound of plastic.

“Tracking bug,” Harry says with a shrug. “Amateurs. Shall we go back to the house? I’m sorry the afternoon hasn’t gone quite as planned.”

Eggsy snorts. “Understatement of the fucking decade, Harry. Yeah, let’s go.”

“Fetch his gun, will you?”

Eggsy goes to fetch it. He has a lot of questions about Evans, about who he works for and what he wants with them, but holding the gun in his hand crystallises it all down to a single concern.

“He’s not going to come after my mum, is he?” he asks as he gets into Harry’s car.

Harry takes the pistol off him. “No.”

“Are you sure? Because if he-”

“Eggsy, your family are perfectly safe,” Harry interrupts. “Please trust me on that.”

“But he’s after me? Why is he after me?”

Harry tucks the Grach and Evans’ pistol away in the concealed storage box next to the steering column. “He’s not _after_ you. He’s keeping an eye on you, and me. That’s all. I don’t appreciate the surveillance but that’s all it was.”

“You threatened him,” Eggsy points out.

“Of course.” Harry sounds almost surprised. “I don’t want him, or any of his little friends, sniffing around you.”

“You said he’s a killer.”

“He is,” Harry says shortly. “Competent in his own way, although somewhat lacking in imagination. But, without orders, he was never a threat to you.”

“Orders from who?”

Harry just smiles. “That’s the question, isn’t it?” he says enigmatically. “Really, Eggsy, it’s nothing for you to worry about.”

Eggsy bites back his instinctive response: Harry is stonewalling and he isn’t sure why but he senses that Harry won’t be easily coaxed into giving up information. “Why was he watching us?” he asks instead.

Harry shrugs. “Information,” he says casually. “I don’t make a habit of bringing anyone with me when I come up here. You’re an exception.”

The way he says it, the implied meaning behind the words, the strength and power of Harry’s hand in his, somehow mingles with the low-level arousal he’s been feeling since he watched Harry slam their pursuer against his car to leave Eggsy light-headed and every bit as breathless as Evans after Harry had finished with him.

“He got the message, and he’ll take the message back with him,” Harry continues, oblivious to Eggsy’s inner turmoil. “Don’t worry about him.”

Eggsy looks down at Harry’s hand, those powerful fingers splayed across his thigh. “I’m not.”

“Liar.” Harry squeezes his thigh gently.

 _I think he might hurt you_ _,_ James had said _._ _Without meaning to_ _._

 _Trust me_ , Harry had said.

Eggsy lays his hand over Harry’s. “Thought you said you were going to take me back and do stuff to me,” he says, his voice more or less steady.

“Not quite how I phrased it but, still, yes.” Harry turns his hand over, interlacing their fingers.

The incongruity of it - holding hands when Harry’s just beaten up and threatened a man - isn’t lost on him. He’s still half-hard but Eggsy feels somehow detached, aware of his own arousal but not focused on it. Harry, on the other hand, he is focused on. He’s hyper-aware of the other man, of the contact between them that feels like too much and not enough all at the same time.

“Harry-”

“Give me your other hand,” Harry interrupts, and Eggsy immediately complies, presenting his wrists so that Harry can secure them together with handcuffs that also, apparently, live in the car.

It’s very quiet in the car when he’s done. Eggsy is acutely aware of the pounding of his heart, the faint metallic clicks as he moves his hands, the rustling sounds as Harry unfastens his trousers.

“Come here,” Harry says, and Eggsy goes readily, twisting his body across the seats as Harry reaches for him, Harry’s hand in his hair guiding him down.

 _He’d kill for me_.

As blowjobs go it’s not ideal; the angle is bad and he can’t get a comfortable position with his cuffed hands trapped underneath him but it’s also the single most intense blowjob Eggsy has ever given, the pressure of Harry’s hand holding him down, every other thought and concern entirely displaced by Harry’s cock, stretching his mouth around the girth of it, surrounded by the taste and feel and scent of Harry. It’s intoxicating, deliriously so, and Eggsy needs no encouragement. He wants this, _needs_ this, more than he’s needed anything ever in his life before.

From time to time Harry lets him back off a little, lets him get his breath back. Every time Eggsy glances up at Harry he’s rewarded with a smile and a nod of approval that Eggsy feels down to his toes, before Harry’s fingers tighten in his hair to remind him what he should be doing. Eventually Eggsy deliberately doesn’t give in easily, hovering over Harry’s crotch, without actually touching him, until Harry makes a frustrated sound and pushes his head down with a firmness that’s hitherto been lacking. Eggsy groans as his mouth is filled, his hands scrabbling to relieve his own frustration.

“Stop that,” Harry says sharply.

“Fuck, Harry-” Eggsy’s protest is abruptly silenced as Harry pushes his head down again and Eggsy nearly comes there and then, Harry’s instructions be damned, because he recognises the gesture for what it is: Harry isn’t coddling him, isn’t deliberately being gentle. Harry is giving him what he wants and needs and Eggsy is intensely grateful for Harry’s hold on him, for the firm hand on the back of his neck as Harry fucks up into his mouth, because it feels like that’s all that’s tethering him to the world.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry keeps his promise; Eggsy discovers a new kink.

Harry drives back to the house at a considerably slower speed, to all intents and purposes nothing more than a respectable citizen out for an enjoyable drive in the countryside. There’s still an undercurrent of tension in the way he holds himself but he’s much more relaxed than he was before, although Eggsy isn’t entirely sure whether that’s down to the adrenaline rush of kicking the shit out one of the men that had been following them or the satisfaction of having held Eggsy down on his cock. Eggsy hopes it’s the latter, because he’s still on a high from it himself, still feeling the phantom tug of Harry’s fingers in his hair and the exquisite stretch of his lips around Harry’s cock.

“Weather’s turning,” Harry remarks inconsequentially, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. “Are you cold?”

“A bit.” Eggsy reaches for the air con buttons, and becomes distracted by the feel of the handcuffs Harry hasn’t yet removed. Eggsy hasn’t asked him to, either.

“We’ll be back at the house in a minute.” Harry frowns and shakes his head reprovingly at a couple of tourists walking along the road instead of on the narrow pavement. “There’s some banoffee cheesecake in the fridge I had my eye on, if you’re interested.”

“Not very healthy, Harry.”

“We can have something healthy as a first course.” Harry turns onto what Eggsy recognises as the road up to the house. “Healthier than those lemon sherbets you’ve been eating, anyway.”

“Like you haven’t had as many as me,” Eggsy retorts. Harry has the grace to look guilty.

Up ahead, the gate stands open. There’s a figure standing next to it, so bundled up against the rain and cold that Eggsy thinks for a moment it’s Stuart, the caretaker, only to realise when they get closer that the figure is shorter and altogether more female. And holding a shotgun in a way that suggests she has no qualms about using it.

The car slows and, at the last moment, Harry reaches over, adroitly hooks his jacket from the back seat, and places it on Eggsy’s lap, effectively hiding Eggsy’s hands from view.

The woman stands impassive as Harry brings the car to a stop next to her and lowers the window.

“Everything all right, Maggie?” he asks cordially.

“We’ve had someone looking around,” she says. This, Eggsy deduces, is Stuart’s wife.

“No problems, I assume.”

“Only for him, sir. I set the dogs on him. Last I saw of him, he was running towards Hawes like his life depended on it.”

“Oh dear,” Harry says, sounding not remotely concerned about the fate of someone Eggsy can only assume is Evans’ erstwhile partner. “That’s not good.”

“Not to worry, sir; I called the dogs back.”

“Sausages for dinner for them then.” Harry releases the handbrake. “Thank you, Maggie. I don’t think we’ll have any more uninvited guests.”

“Not to worry if we do, sir.” Her eyes flicker to Eggsy, just for a moment, and for all that his hands are hidden from sight Eggsy is hit by a strong sense that she knows _exactly_ what they’ve been doing.

“Fucking _hell_ ,” he breathes as the car moves.

“Problem, Eggsy?”

Eggsy stares out of the window instead of replying, trying to get a glimpse of his own reflection to see how much he’s blushing.

“Eggsy?” Harry prompts.

“S’nothing.” Second-guessing himself, he adds, “She knows, yeah?”

“About us or about me?”

“Both. Either.”

“Yes.”

Harry isn’t giving anything else away. He parks the car behind the house and they head inside, Harry’s hand on Eggsy’s arm. A wave of heat greets them when Harry opens the door, a welcome contrast to the freezing temperatures outside. It’s a relief to get inside, to close the door on the world outside. To what Eggsy realises he’s come to see as sanctuary: him and Harry and no one else. A place where all the normal rules don’t apply.

“All right?” Harry asks gently, and Eggsy realises he’s been standing motionless, blocking Harry’s path.

“Fucking freezing,” Eggsy says, forcing his face into what is probably a horrible parody of a smile.

Harry studies him for a moment, and then nods, like he’s seen something he approves of. “Come on then.”

“What’s the plan for tonight?”

Harry shrugs off his jacket and hangs it up. “Who says there’s a plan?”

“Seem to remember you making a few promises.”

“Oh, yes,” Harry says with a small, secretive smile. “Well, first of all, I think we both need to get cleaned up. Which,” he adds, holding up a remonstrative finger, “means a shower.”

“You could shower with me,” Eggsy says suggestively, tugging at Harry’s arm.

“Mmm, no.” Before Eggsy can take offence, he adds, “You’re too distracting, and I have other plans that need attending to. Let me take the cuffs off for you.”

“Don’t have to.”

“You’ll find it difficult to get undressed unless I do,” Harry says dryly. He extracts a key from his pocket. “Showering in your clothes is one of those things that looks good on TV but feels absolutely terrible in real life.”

He unlocks the handcuffs but Eggsy can tell he’s distracted, thinking about something else. It’s on the tip of Eggsy’s tongue to ask him what’s going on but Harry forestalls him with a kiss so tender it takes Eggsy’s breath away.

“If I leave you for a while,” he murmurs against Eggsy’s lips. “Do you think you can avoid touching yourself?”

It’s said so casually, like it’s something of no consequence whatsoever, but Harry doesn’t need to spell out what he really means, doesn’t need to explain that this is something that matters.

“Yeah,” Eggsy says. He says it again, with more conviction.

Harry kisses him again. “Good. Get cleaned up and then come downstairs when you’re dry. Don’t bother getting dressed.”

“That’s not helping, Harry,” Eggsy complains, and feels Harry’s laughter in response.

“Off you go. If you behave yourself I might be very unkind to you later.”

“Yeah, like you like me behaving myself,” Eggsy grumbles, half-hearted.

“There’s a first time for everything.”

Eggsy takes a few deep breaths when Harry’s gone and desperately tries to think about something non-sexual. Chips, he thinks, remembering the chips they’d shared earlier. He thinks about the chippy round the corner at home, and the other takeaways on the estate, and manages to distract himself with the comparative price of kebabs from Benny’s Pizza and The Fried Plaice long enough to get himself upstairs. But then, as he steps into the shower, it occurs to him that it doesn’t matter anyway; he knows - on some fundamental level - that he’s not going to get himself off. Harry told him not to and he won’t, and there’s no real internal struggle about it.

_Fucking training me up in this as well, aren_ _’t you?_ he tells an imaginary Harry, pressing his hands against the tiles. And he knows that is and isn’t true: Harry might be conditioning him to follow his instructions, but he’s succeeding only because Eggsy wants him to. It’s arousing and terrifying all at the same time because - _fuck_ \- Eggsy wants to give Harry that power over him, to let Harry decide when he can come and when he can’t.

There’s another epiphany to add to the others he’s had since he met Harry. Eggsy grins ruefully at his own reflection in the shower screen.

_You are so fucked,_ he thinks. And then, _Hopefully literally._

He takes his time getting dried off, not deliberately keeping Harry waiting but guessing that the other man might need time to get himself cleaned up and not wanting to rush him. When he does go downstairs, though, he finds Harry already waiting for him, warming his hands in front of the fire. He’s dressed in dark trousers and a blue shirt Eggsy hasn’t seen before but instantly wants to touch.

“Sorry I’m late.”

“You’re not.”

There’s an untouched glass of brandy on a side table, freshly poured. And then there’s _something_ on the floor between them, a strange-looking piece of furniture that looks like nothing else Eggsy has ever seen. Harry follows his sight line but he doesn’t offer an explanation.

“Do you want something to eat?” he asks instead.

Eggsy shakes his head. “Not hungry, thanks.” He steps forward into the room and circles the thing slowly. It looks like a cross between a low bench and a person on their knees, bent forward at the waist. Involuntarily he takes a few steps forward, reaching out to run his hand across the highest part of it. The black leather is warm and smooth to the touch and now he gets a better look at it Eggsy can guess what it’s for.

“You want me on this, yeah?”

“If you don’t mind.” Harry hasn’t moved from his position by the fire and he hasn’t looked away from Eggsy either. Leaving the option open for Eggsy to say yes or no, but Eggsy has already made his decision.

“Nah, don’t mind.” Eggsy moves to stand at the end of the thing, working out what he needs to do. Gingerly he kneels on the parallel horizontal panels that are clearly designed for the purpose, glancing over to Harry in case he’s doing it wrong. Harry, though, only nods approvingly.

His knees sink into the deep padding and it feels _easy_ for Eggsy to lean forward so that his chest rests on the angled, higher panel. There’s a cut out in the panel, right in front of his face, and when he lets himself sink down he finds it fits him perfectly, supporting the weight of his head across his forehead and his chin, whilst still allowing him to breathe easily. His hands fall naturally to the sides, coming to rest against the frame.

Harry moves, finally, crossing the distance between them in a few steps. His hand settles on the back of Eggsy’s neck.

“Comfortable?”

“Yeah.” Eggsy’s voice is slightly muffled but he knows Harry can hear him. He’s acutely aware of how exposed he is in this position; aware, too, of his own cock jutting into the empty space between the two panels, denied any kind of friction.

“I’m going to tie you down now.” A pause, leaving time for Eggsy to object.

“Ok,” Eggsy says.

The hand is removed and Eggsy holds his breath, waiting for Harry’s next move. He doesn’t have to wait long: Harry is obviously pre-prepared and he works quickly and efficiently, strapping Eggsy’s legs and wrists to the frame with restraints that are soft to the touch but also, as Eggsy soon discovers, completely unyielding. The last restraint is a wider band of leather that goes around his waist, securing him firmly in place.

“Still ok?” Harry asks. His hand rests on Eggsy’s back, just about the waist restraint.

“Yeah.” Eggsy tries to wriggle his hips and finds that he can barely move. “You gonna fuck me?”

“Eggsy,” Harry says reprovingly. Then, “I asked if I could be unkind to you. And I thought I’d try something out, if that’s ok.”

“More than ok,” Eggsy assures him. He tries to lift his head to make eye contact with Harry but the restraints and the depth of the cut out mean he can’t manage it.

“Good.” Harry moves again and Eggsy hears the scrape of a chair sliding across the floor. “Do you mind it being a surprise?”

Eggsy grins to himself. “No.”

“And you know what to say, don’t you?”

“Manners maketh man,” Eggsy says obediently.

“Very good. Hold still for me, please.”

“Like I have a fucking choi- ah!”

“Everything all right, Eggsy?” Harry deadpans, like he isn’t teasing Eggsy with a slick finger, pushing in to the first knuckle without giving Eggsy much in the way of warm up.

“Nothing like a bit of warning, is there?” It’s a half-hearted complaint and they both know it: Eggsy is already trying to buck his hips to get Harry’s finger deeper. Silently begging for Harry to replace his finger with something more substantial.

“You seem fairly warmed up to me,” Harry says lightly.

“Oh fuck yo- oh fucking h-hell…” Eggsy’s breath catches in his throat as Harry’s finger finds his prostate, a light, devilishly teasing touch that somehow manages to send Eggsy’s body into overdrive.

“Do you think you could come just from this?” Harry asks.

“Maybe. P-probably not,” Eggsy manages. It’s increasingly difficult to form coherent thoughts, let alone words and he’s so hard he thinks he might come if Harry so much as _breathes_ on his cock. “S’not ginger in it this time, is it?”

Harry laughs softly. “No, not this time. But there is something else you’ve had before. I thought it’d be a surprise.”

“What s-sort of surprise?”

“This.”

There’s no warning of it, no time for Eggsy to prepare himself. One moment he’s enjoying the torturous sensations of Harry’s finger inside him, the next his entire body is seizing up and frantically trying to get away from the lancing cold pressed firmly against his crotch. Whatever it is - and he dimly thinks it might be an ice pack or something similar - there’s no escaping it: it’s held in place by some sort of strap Harry snaps around his hips.

“Fuck, Harry … stop,” he begs, struggling against the restraints. Any thought of getting off is long gone. “Please … fuck… fuck, it’s cold.”

“Just relax, Eggsy.”

Eggsy glares at the floor. He understands now why Harry tied him down so securely: there’s no way he’d stay still for this, no matter what Harry told him to do. “How the fuck can I fucking _relax_? My balls are getting fucking hypothermia.”

“I did say I was going to be unkind,” Harry says mildly. “Want me to stop?”

Eggsy tugs his arms against the restraints. The cold seems to be spreading through his lower body, numbing all sensation. He’s aware of Harry’s finger inside him again, but it’s not a particularly pleasurable sensation now; just pressure and fullness, nothing more. “No,” he says mulishly.

“Good. Now, just try and relax.” Harry’s finger pushes in further. “There’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

It’s not entirely true - and it’s said as a statement of fact and nothing more - but the effect the implied command has on Eggsy is instantaneous. His body relaxes, but at the same time there’s a tight, twisting ball of _something_ unfurling in his chest that delights in the truth of Harry’s words, that accepts his implicit helplessness and wants to beg for more, that hovers somewhere between trepidation and fevered anticipation as Harry carefully works a second finger inside him.

“You got a t-thing for ice, Harry?” It’s a distraction and his voice isn’t quite as stable as he would have liked.

Harry snorts. “It has its uses, that’s all.”

“Yeah, like what?”

“You’ll see,” Harry says, like Eggsy hasn’t already had a practical demonstration of what ice at the wrong - or right - moment can do. Then, “I’m going to make you come. Well, in a way. You won’t really feel it.”

“Why?” His voice breaks on the word and Eggsy feels Harry hesitate, just for a split-second.

“Do you want to stop, Eggsy?”

The words _fuck no_ are on his lips but Eggsy pauses and forces himself to think it through instead of going with his first, instinctive reaction. He senses that Harry isn’t entirely sure he wants this, is still wary of what happened the previous night. And Eggsy impetuously agreeing to anything he suggests is going to make Harry back off.

“No,” he says eventually. Then, for emphasis, he adds, “There’s nothing I can do to stop you, yeah?”

“No,” Harry says, softly. “Nothing. Just relax. There’s no rush. Just accept it.”

Eggsy closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. It works, to an extent: he’s still very aware of his own predicament but there’s no urgency to it and his mind drifts, focused on nothing in particular. He’s very aware of his own breathing, of Harry’s, the crackling of the fire, and the rain beating against the windows. Of Harry’s hand warm against his skin and the movement of Harry’s fingers inside him.

“How’s that?”

“All right.” And it’s true: once the initial shock of the ice pack wears off the cold is just _there_ , just like the intrusion of Harry’s fingers. Eggsy flexes his arms and legs against the restraints just to feel how firmly he’s held in place and watches the flicker of the firelight on the floor beneath him, content to let Harry do whatever it is he’s doing without trying to fight it.

There’s a dichotomy here, he thinks, between the pain Harry’s hands can inflict, so vividly demonstrated this afternoon, and the care he takes with Eggsy.

“How are you feeling?” Harry asks after a while, breaking into Eggsy’s reverie. It takes Eggsy a moment to get his thoughts in order, a few moments more to try and fail to sort through what his body is telling him is happening.

“Like I’m going to pee,” he says honestly. “I think. Kinda hard to tell.”

“That’s fine,” Harry tells him. “Go with that feeling.”

“M’not going to piss all over your floor, Harry.”

“You won’t,” Harry says authoritatively. “Just go with it. Don’t try to hold on.”

The ice pack is removed from his crotch. Eggsy feels Harry’s fingers on his limp, shrivelled cock, but the sensation is muted and about as arousing as someone stroking his elbow. Harry runs a finger firmly along the underside of Eggsy’s cock and the other, stronger sensation, the one that his brain can’t quite interpret, abruptly surges and crests. Eggsy lets out a strangled moan, confused and overwhelmed by the sudden rush of sensation that isn’t like anything he’s ever experienced before.

“That’s it,” Harry says, voice warm with satisfaction. “Well done, Eggsy.”

“W-wha- what are you doing?” He can hear the slurring in his own voice, like he’s drunk or drugged. “What are you d-doing to me…”

He’s coming, he thinks. Except he’s not, not really. The sensation isn’t unpleasant, isn’t painful; the best Eggsy can come up with is that it’s like pissing in slow motion, a profoundly unsatisfying sensation, even more so than the last time Harry used ice on him.

“I’ve been thinking about trying this for a while,” Harry says conversationally. “I was going to wait a little longer but it seemed like a good time. And you’re doing so well.”

Eggsy groans as the sensation surges again, weaker this time. He can feel the dribble of come now the numbing cold is wearing off but the sensation still isn’t anywhere near intense enough to be classed as pleasurable. Harry’s fingers are still pressing inside him and he thinks - as much as he _can_ think - that he understands what Harry is doing.

“Not gonna let me come tonight, are you?” he mumbles.

“Well, it’s more a case that you’re not going to be _able_ to for a while,” Harry says mildly. “Not properly. I did warn you.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Do you want a biology lecture?” Harry says, sounding amused. “Orgasm is triggered by fluid pressure and stimulation. Take away the fluid pressure and, well, there you are.”

Eggsy groans.“How long?” he asks.

“Until you can come? It depends. People react differently. You’re young enough to recover reasonably quickly.”

“How quickly?” Eggsy’s body spasms around another surge.

“Maybe tomorrow. And you’ll probably be able to get hard tonight.” He rubs Eggsy’s hip with his free hand. “I’ll keep going a little bit longer, I think. It’s a beginner mistake to stop too soon.”

“I fucking hate you,” Eggsy mumbles. It’s half-hearted and they both know it but he feels like he needs to say it because, while the physical sensations might be muted, there’s something fundamentally devastating on a mental level about what Harry is doing to him, something that twists inside his chest and makes his stomach do strange flip-flops, and it’s something he thinks he should be angry about but _isn_ _’t_ , because the flip side of it is that this - the knowledge that Harry is literally forcing the come out of him, that Harry is taking away the _possibility_ of Eggsy getting off tonight - hits buttons Eggsy never knew he had.

He loses track of time again and it almost catches him by surprise when Harry withdraws his fingers, cleans him up with careful efficiency, and starts to unfasten the restraints. He fusses over Eggsy’s wrists, concerned at the redness where Eggsy tried to struggle his way out of them.

“I’m fine, Harry,” Eggsy assures him. He starts to stand up, only for Harry to push him down again.

“Get up slowly. You’ve been in one position for a while; I don’t want you keeling over.”

Eggsy humours him by getting to his feet in increments, making sure to lean into Harry’s hold on him. It’s difficult for him to get a handle on how he feels; there’s none of the satisfaction he’d normally have and he still feels keyed up, on edge. Like he hasn’t come at all.

“How are you feeling?” Harry asks.

“Good, yeah.”

Harry smiles, leaning in to press a kiss against Eggsy’s temple. His hand finds Eggsy’s cock and gives it a slow, teasing stroke that has Eggsy shuddering against him.

“ _Fuck_.”

He feels Harry’s smile. “Like that?” the other man asks. The hand slides upwards, across Eggsy’s belly and up to his chest, rubbing lightly against Eggsy’s nipple. Eggsy shudders, grateful for Harry’s hold on him as his knees threaten to buckle.

“Don’t think I’m gonna be able to not get off,” Eggsy warns breathlessly. His cock is definitely interested, and he pushes against Harry’s thigh, trying to get some friction.

“Oh, you’re welcome to try,” Harry says, and just like that he pulls away from Eggsy and stands back to put some space between them. “Why don’t you?”

Eggsy stares at him. “You want me to-”

“If you want.” Harry sits down in the chair by the fire and reaches for the glass of brandy on the side table. He holds Eggsy’s gaze as he brings the glass to his lips. “I think I’d like to watch you.”

“Yeah?” Eggsy feels his pulse quicken. He knows Harry likes to watch him and the intensity of Harry’s gaze on him tonight is something else. He’s half-hard already, without even touching himself.

“Yes.”

Eggsy can work with that. He takes a deep breath and sinks down to his knees, revelling in the way Harry’s eyes widen - imperceptible to anyone who didn’t _know_ Harry the way he does - and his breath stutters momentarily. He deliberately trails a hand across his chest and Harry’s avid eyes track the movement, not looking away for a second.

“I can suck you off, if you like.”

“That’s a very generous offer, Eggsy,” Harry says, taking another sip of brandy. His hand, Eggsy thinks, is annoyingly steady. “But I think I’d prefer to watch you.”

Eggsy moans as he finally gets his hand on his cock. It feels incredibly sensitive, every sensation magnified. “Might not take very long-” he manages.

Harry just smiles. “We’ll see,” he says cryptically.

“You could fuck me.”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “Oh, I’ve had a very enjoyable day already, Eggsy,” he says mildly - almost, but not quite, managing to keep a straight face.

“Fuck you,” Eggsy grumbles. He has a rhythm going now, a smooth slide over his cock, which stays annoyingly half-hard. But he can work with that, he reasons: he never gets fully hard when Harry jerks him off with a plug inside him and he still gets off. “What you said, it’s not true, yeah? You were just saying it?”

“I don’t know,” Harry says. He leans back in the chair, eyeing Eggsy thoughtfully. “As I said, people react differently. And you don’t look like you’re getting anywhere.”

“Just need a bit more time,” Eggsy says defiantly. He can feel himself flushing. “You complaining?”

Harry smiles, and takes another sip of brandy. “Oh no, Eggsy. You carry on. We’ve got plenty of time.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The experiment continues, and Eggsy learns that Harry really wasn't joking.

“You can stop any time you like,” Harry says casually, holding out a glass. “Don’t feel that you have to keep going for my sake.”

Eggsy finds the resolve to glare at him but not to turn down the offer of another sip of orange juice.

“Do you want something else to eat?” Harry asks solicitously. “A bit of toast, perhaps?”

“No,” Eggsy manages through gritted teeth, his hand frantically working his cock, which remains stubbornly, agonisingly half-hard. His back arches, his hips jerking forward as he grinds down on the silicone plug inside him, but it doesn’t help; the physical sensations are intense but they never quite build to any kind of climax. He’s lost track of time entirely but it feels like he’s been in this room for hours, on his knees in front of Harry, and Eggsy is starting to - reluctantly - come to the conclusion that Harry wasn’t joking when he said that Eggsy probably wasn’t going to be coming tonight.

It only fuels Eggsy’s determination to prove Harry wrong though.

“It’s still raining. Let’s hope our friend isn’t still out on the hillside.” Harry’s tone suggests he doesn’t really care very much either way. “Do you think you’re anywhere near getting off?” he adds, idly, and Eggsy flushes.

“I’m getting there.”

“Mmm, not anywhere quickly.” Harry’s knowing smile only serves to deepen Eggsy’s flush. “Shall we make things a little more interesting?”

“Like what?” Eggsy asks, instantly suspicious. He knows that glint in Harry’s eyes.

Instead of answering, Harry leans down and pulls a box from underneath the chair. He must, Eggsy thinks, have been busy while Eggsy was in the shower because he recognises some of the things in it from their earlier trip outside.

“We’ll start with this.” Harry holds up a blindfold Eggsy hasn’t seen before. “I’ll give you, say, ten minutes to get off. After that, if you haven’t, something else goes on. If you can get off before I tie your hands you won’t have a problem.”

“And if I can’t?” Eggsy asks.

“Then you _do_ have a problem.” Harry smiles wolfishly. “Want to take the gamble?”

Eggsy hesitates for less than a second. It’s not even a debate. “Yeah, all right.”

“Excellent. Use some more lube; I don’t want you getting friction burn.”

Eggsy rolls his eyes at the other man but Harry ignores it, getting up from the chair to move behind Eggsy and carefully slip the blindfold over his head.

“How’s that?” he asks, adjusting it carefully so it sits squarely over Eggsy’s eyes.

“Fine.” The blindfold is thick but very soft and even when Harry tightens the buckle to keep it snug over Eggsy’s eyes it doesn’t pinch or press against his eyelids. Eggsy finds he can open his eyes, even if all he sees is darkness.

Without sight, every sensation ramps up in intensity, from the soft slide of the rug underneath his knees to the warmth radiating from the fire. Eggsy settles back more comfortably on his heels, biting his lip as the plug shifts inside him at the movement, and listens to Harry moving around the room.

“What’s going on next, if I don’t get off?”

“You’ll have to wait and see,” Harry says. “Poor figure of speech, I suppose. Let’s call it a surprise. I’m going to go and make us something to eat. I won’t be long.”

He’s only blindfolded; there’s nothing else holding him in place. Yet somehow Eggsy feels more restrained than he did when Harry had him strapped down and immobile earlier. It feels like an age before Harry returns, even though it probably isn’t, and he still isn’t any closer to getting anywhere when he does. He’s not even on the edge but he wants to be, so badly it’s almost a physical pain. The need to come is a constant desperation, an urgent, overwhelming need he can’t fulfil.

“Here,” Harry says, sitting down again. “Eat this.”

Eggsy opens his mouth obediently and lets Harry feed him a cheese and ham sandwich, broken into small pieces, and tries not to think about how he must look, kneeling blindfolded at Harry’s feet, taking food from Harry’s hand.

“Warm enough?”

“Yeah.”

He hears the scrape of a chair, and a series of faint clicks. Eggsy frowns.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing exciting.” Then, perhaps sensing that Eggsy is close to pulling the blindfold off just so he can see, he adds, “I noticed the torch in the pantry wasn’t working. I’m just repairing it. You carry on.”

“Thanks,” Eggsy says sarcastically. He can’t quite decide if Harry is deliberately teasing him by doing something so mundane, or if he genuinely isn’t holding Harry’s attention. Either way, it’s annoying.

“Ah, there we are,” Harry says cheerfully. “The battery compartment wasn’t closing properly. I can fix that easily. Did you say something?”

“No,” Eggsy says sulkily.

“You probably think I shouldn’t be worrying about something minor but you can never be too careful out here. Power cuts aren’t unheard of. Well, that’s ten minutes.” Eggsy hears him set aside the torch he’s working on and stand up.

“That’s not ten minutes,” Eggsy protests. “’M nearly there.”

“Mmm.” Something clinks, a louder, more solid sound. Eggsy flinches as Harry’s hand touches his shoulder. “Stand up for a moment.”

Harry helps him stand, which Eggsy is grateful for because the sensation of the plug shifting around inside him as he gets to his feet is an interesting experience. Eggsy senses Harry moving around, hears another soft sound. He flinches when something touches his leg, only to relax a moment later when he feels Harry snapping a restraint around first one ankle and then the other, his finger rubbing against Eggsy’s skin as he checks the restraints aren’t too tight.

“Don’t try walking,” he warns.

Eggsy immediately tries to move one leg, only to realise that there’s some sort of rigid link between the two ankle cuffs, locking his feet a fixed distance apart. He sways alarmingly before Harry catches hold of him and steadies him.

“You can stand or you can kneel, or you can sit down, if you like.”

Eggsy chooses to kneel down again, groaning as the plug shifts again, and Harry touches his shoulder in what Eggsy likes to think is approval.

“Another ten minutes.”

The ankle cuffs are very heavy: steel, Eggsy thinks. He reaches back with his free hand and runs his fingers over them, feeling the soft padding that rubs against his skin and the smooth, cold outer surface. He can’t feel a lock at first, until his fingers discover the slight inclusion where the surfaces meet.

“This ain’t a normal lock.”

“Very good,” Harry says approvingly. “No, it isn’t. I think you’d find it quite difficult to get yourself out of those.”

“But not impossible, yeah?”

“No, not impossible. Perhaps I’ll teach you how, one day”

Eggsy scowls in what he hopes is Harry’s direction. “Perhaps?”

“Eggsy,” Harry remonstrates. “I have to have something you can’t get out of by yourself.”

“Like watching me try though, don’t you?”

“Oh, you have no idea.” Harry’s voice seems to drop several octaves. “Ten minutes.”

“No fucking way!” Eggsy protests. “That is not ten minutes.”

“It is by my watch.” Eggsy hears him stand up again. “No, don’t try and get up. I don’t want you falling over.”

“You’re fucking cheating,” Eggsy grumbles.

“You can stop any time you like,” Harry says mildly.

Eggsy contents himself with another scowl in Harry’s general direction. He can’t see what Harry is putting on him but he can feel it: the thick heavy leather band that goes around his waist and smaller bands that wrap around each thigh. These, too, have a rigid bar that goes between them, forcing his thighs apart. Harry hums an annoyingly cheerful tune to himself as he checks the fastenings and pats Eggsy on the shoulder.

“You’re running out of time, Eggsy.”

“Fuck you,” Eggsy says, without any heat behind the words. The weight and rigidity of the restraints is doing strange things to him: he feels light-headed, almost feverish, close to just begging Harry to do whatever else he has in mind. And all the while his hand is still moving on his cock as he desperately tries to tip himself over the edge into climax. He’s so _so_ close - he knows he just needs _something_ more and it’ll be enough.

“You should finger yourself,” Harry says, and Eggsy does, one finger first, running around the circumference of the plug before sliding in alongside it, like he can replicate how it feels when Harry’s fingers are inside him. Like how he wants to feel Harry’s cock inside him. Because it feels good - it feels _really_ good - but it isn’t quite enough, isn’t quite _right_.

“You should fuck me,” he suggests.

“Maybe tomorrow.”

“I fucking hate you.”

He knows Harry is smiling. “Have some more orange juice.”

He hardly notices the glass being held to his lips, or the liquid trickling down his throat. Eggsy is finding it increasingly difficult to put any kind of coherent thought together; he’s barely aware of anything any more except the overwhelming need to come. It’s like nothing he’s ever felt before, like nothing he can put a label on. He isn’t consciously ignoring Harry or trying to block him out but he snaps back to awareness to realise that Harry is speaking and he has no idea what the other man just said.

“Eggsy?”

“M’here.”

“All right?”

“Yeah.”

“What did I just say?”

“Don’t know,” Eggsy admits.

Harry’s fingers graze his cheek. “Do you want to stop?” he asks seriously. “Think about it.”

It’s hard to think but Eggsy tries. Tries to catalogue his body’s mixed messages and the disordered mess that is his mind and get to the kind of reasoned conclusion that Harry wants from him.

“No,” he says eventually.

“Are you sure? Because I’m only going to give you another ten minutes, and then we’re stopping.”

“‘M not getting anywhere.” It comes out in one rush of breath, an admission that feels world-shattering in its importance. He hears Harry’s breath catch.

“No, Eggsy, you’re not,” Harry says, very gently, and this time when his fingers touch Eggsy’s cheek Eggsy feels the wetness on his skin.

The tears come from a place Eggsy doesn’t entirely understand; not from sadness or fear or all the emotions of the previous night, but rather from a sense of loss that isn’t entirely unpleasant. There’s acceptance mingled in there too, and an awareness of something else his mind shies away from at first, that takes a while to process as a sense of submission on a level far above anything he’s ever felt before. Which in itself he isn’t ashamed of except that it’s tied into thoughts he’s pretty sure Harry hadn’t planned for, and he’s not sure how to voice them.

“Talk to me, Eggsy,” Harry says quietly. He sounds concerned. Eggsy feels the brush of soft cotton against his face as Harry wipes away the tears that have escaped the fabric of the blindfold.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

Harry doesn’t pick him up on the apology. “Do you want me to let you go? There’s no wrong answer, remember.”

“No.” It seems to take forever for Eggsy to find the right words. “Do more. Tie me more.”

He feels the faint tremor in Harry’s hand. “You want me to use more restraints on you?”

“Yeah.” And then, because he knows Harry won’t do anything if he thinks Eggsy  is incapable of making good decisions, he forces the words out, “I want you to tie me more, ‘cos I know you want to watch me and I want it, and we both know I ain’t getting off tonight so fucking let me have this, yeah?”

Harry's thumb rubs against his cheekbone again. "I suppose it would be rude for me to refuse you, wouldn't it?"

"Fucking right it would," Eggsy retorts. It's weird, he thinks, because the need to come is still there and it's still intense but it's been supplanted by this new feeling, this acceptance, this understanding. And there's something else he needs to say to Harry, now, before he loses his nerve.

"You said you was gonna fuck me tomorrow, yeah?"

"That was the plan, yes," Harry says as he moves behind Eggsy. "Unless you have any objections."

"Am I- do you think I'll be able to-" Eggsy flounders, momentarily distracted by Harry snapping cuffs around his wrists. They feel very similar to the cuffs around his ankles; heavy but with a soft, padded lining.

"Do I think you'll be able to get off tomorrow when I fuck you? I have no idea, to be honest. Possibly. We've never done this before so I don't know how quickly you'll recover the, ah, ability. Just keep looking forward for me, please."

Eggsy can't stop the small, helpless sound that escapes his mouth when Harry slips the collar around his neck. It's not quite as heavy as the other restraints but it's a substantial thing nonetheless and it makes the breath catch in his throat despite not being at all restrictive.

“There,” Harry says, easing a finger between the collar and Eggsy’s neck to check it isn’t pinching. “How’s that?”

“Fucking amazing,” Eggsy says quickly, because it is. It really, really is. He turns his head experimentally, and feels the weight of the collar shift, like there’s something attached to each side of it. His unspoken question is answered when Harry lifts each of his wrists in turn and fastens something Eggsy can’t see. When he releases his hold, Eggsy finds that his wrists are held at the same level as his neck either side of his head, so he can’t lower his arms or bring his arms together. He tugs on the cuffs experimentally and discovers, to no great surprise, that they don’t yield an inch.

“It’s called a yoke,” Harry explains. “Makes it very difficult to use your hands, doesn’t it?”

Eggsy twists experimentally. “Yeah, you’re not joking.” This, he thinks, is true helplessness. It’s a real, visceral jolt to realise that Harry has him in a restraint he genuinely can’t escape, another to realise that he doesn’t want to escape, and he doesn’t want Harry to stop.

“Tomorrow,” he says, getting himself back on track. “I can ask for something, right?”

“Of course you can.” Harry squeezes his thigh in gentle reproach. “You know you can ask for anything you like. I’m going to lie you down now. Just let me do it; I won’t drop you or let you fall.”

True to his word, Harry lowers him gently to the floor, and Eggsy finds himself lying on his front. He’s glad, now, that his cock isn’t particularly hard.

“How’s that?”

“Fine.” And then, because somehow it’s easier when he knows Harry can’t see his face, he adds:

“I want you to do this - what you did - again tomorrow, so I don’t come when you fuck me.”

Harry stills, his hand resting on Eggsy’s hip. “Are you sure?” he asks, and just the fact that he’s even considering the idea eases some of the tension in Eggsy’s chest.

“You have no idea how sure I am,” Eggsy assures him.

There’s a painfully long moment of silence, Harry’s hand unmoving against Eggsy’s hip.

“You’re going to be the death of me, Eggsy,” Harry says eventually. His thumb presses in a little, not enough to be painful. “You speak to all my worst impulses.”

“Is that your shit way of saying yes?”

Harry laughs, and the pressure lets up. “I suppose so.” He takes hold of the bar connecting Eggsy’s ankles and pulls it steadily until the back of Eggsy’s calves are close against the back of his thighs.

“Ow,” Eggsy complains.

“Too much?”

“No.”

There’s a clicking sound and Harry lets go, and Eggsy realises that his ankle restraints are now firmly secured to the bar between his thighs, keeping his legs tightly folded together. It's uncomfortable but not painful.

“How’s that? Your flexibility is much better these days.”

Eggsy preens a little under the praise. “Good, yeah.”

“Stay like that for a moment,” Harry says, like Eggsy has a choice in the matter. Still, he makes a play of struggling a little, because he knows Harry will be watching. And, if he’s honest with himself, because he likes it too. There’s something intoxicating about being bound tightly, in restraints he knows he can’t escape. Trusting Harry to look after him.

It feels longer than a moment until Harry comes back and Eggsy can’t quite get a handle on what Harry is doing in the meantime. His shoulders are starting to ache now and, try as he might, he can’t get a comfortable position.

“Still with me?” Harry asks.

“Yeah. All good.”

Harry’s hand insinuates itself between Eggsy’s thighs, tapping lightly on the base of the plug. Eggsy groans.

“Fucking hell, Harry,” he complains.

He hears Harry laugh. The tapping stops.

“Up, now.”

Eggsy doesn’t get the chance to ask how Harry intends for him to stand before Harry is pulling him up onto his knees, balancing him carefully and supporting him so he doesn’t topple backwards. It feels precarious, even more so when Harry’s slick hand closes around his sensitised cock.

“No, Harry…”

“You couldn’t get yourself off,” Harry says reasonably. “What makes you think I can?”

He’s so close, his body fitting against Eggsy’s from shoulder to thigh. Eggsy rests his head against Harry’s shoulder and breathes in the scent of him, half-wishing he had his hands free so he could touch Harry but mostly glad of the frustration of denial.

“More intense when you can’t have what you want, isn’t it?” Harry murmurs, like he knows exactly what Eggsy is thinking. His free hand moves to Eggsy’s neck, and Eggsy feels him fumble with the fastening of the blindfold.

“Harry…”

“I want to look at you.”

“Been looking at me all night,” Eggsy grumbles half-heartedly.

“True. But it’s getting late and I think we should probably go to bed soon.” The hand on Eggsy’s cock slows and stills. “Not much point me continuing this, is there?”

Eggsy feels his cheeks heating as Harry pulls the blindfold over his head. It’s not wrong, what Harry’s saying, but it emphasises the reality of it all over again. “No.”

“I’m going to anyway. It’s not like you can do anything to stop me.”

Which isn’t exactly true - Eggsy knows he has to say precisely three words to make Harry stop - but it’s close enough. He bites down on the fabric under his face, muffling his groan when Harry’s hand resumes its slow, sure rhythm.

“You know, I had very different plans for tomorrow,” the other man murmurs. “In fact, I was going to see how many times I could make you come, but I suppose that’s off the table.”

“Nngh,” Eggsy says intelligently.

“No regrets, I hope? Not that it matters now.”

“Mmngh.”

Harry kisses his cheek. “Yes, Eggsy. Shall we go to bed now?”

Eggsy nods, silently, both relieved to have the tension on his muscles eased and disappointed to be released. He waits patiently for Harry to remove each restraint in turn, and lets Harry help him stand when he’s done. Then, and only then, does he realise that he still has his eyes closed.

“Come on,” Harry says gently as Eggsy opens his eyes. “Upstairs and I’ll rub those muscles for you.”

“Rub something else if you like.”

“I think we established that was rather pointless. Let me damp down the fire and we’ll head up.” Harry kisses him again. "You were very good, Eggsy."

It doesn't feel like it does normally when Harry's tied him up and let him come. Eggsy's tired but he's not _satisfied_ ; there's still that nagging need, that sense of imbalance lurking in the back of his mind. Anticipation, too, and the satisfaction of having pleased Harry, and it's a heady mix, one that makes him want to do it all again tomorrow.

They go upstairs, Harry’s hand possessively resting in the small of Eggsy’s back. Harry runs Eggsy a bath, and pours in what Eggsy considers to be an obscene amount of bath salts. The hot water feels amazing though, and by the time Harry ushers him out, dries him meticulously, and lays him out on the bed Eggsy is finding it difficult to keep his eyes open.

“Think ‘m supposed to be doing this for you,” he mumbles as Harry rubs his back, his thumbs unerringly seeking out and dispatching every ache and tiny strain.

“Oh, you’re going to be doing plenty for me tomorrow,” Harry deadpans, and Eggsy doesn’t even have the energy to roll his eyes. Harry’s hands move to the tense muscles in his neck and Eggsy, worn out by the day’s events, promptly falls asleep.


End file.
